II 


\w 


THE  LIBRARY 


THE  UNIVERSITY 


OF  CALIFORNIA 


LOS  ANGELES 


GIFT  OF 

j.  Lorenz  Sporer 


4-f- 


7 


TRUTH 


TRUTH 

[VERITE] 


By 

£MILE  ZOLA 

Translated  by 

ERNEST  A.  VIZETELLY 


1903 

NEW    YORK:    JOHN    LANE 
THE     BODLEY     HEAD 


Copyright  by 

JOHN    LANE 

1903 


The  French  Edition  of  this   work  has  been 
copyrighted  at  Washington  by  Alexandrine 
Zola,   widow  of  the  novelist.     No 
other  translation  will  there- 
fore   be  permitted 


FIRST  EDITION,    FEBRUARY,    1903 
SECOND  EDITION,    FEBRUARY,    1903 


Set  up  and  Electrotyped  by 
The  Knickerbocker  Press,  New  York,  U.  S.  A. 

Press  Work  by 
The  Caxton  Press,  New  York,  U.  S.  A. 


College 
Library 


2. 5"  2-1 
Vi'S  £  5- 


PREFACE 

CONSPICUOUS  among  the  writings  which  influenced 
the  great  changes  witnessed  by  the  world  at  the  end 
of  the  eighteenth  century  were  the  '  Nouvelle  H£- 
loise,'  the  '  Contrat  Social,'  the  '  Emile  ou  1' Education  '  of 
Jean-Jacques  Rousseau.  At  the  close  of  the  nineteenth, 
the  advent  of  the  twentieth  century,  one  finds  three  books, 
*F£condite\'  'Travail,'  and  'V&rite1,'  the  works  of  Emile 
Zola,  Rousseau's  foremost  descendant.  It  is  too  soon  by 
far  to  attempt  to  gauge  the  extent  of  the  influence  which 
these  works  may  exercise;  but,  disseminated  in  French  and 
in  many  other  languages  to  the  uttermost  ends  of  the  earth, 
they  are  works  which  will  certainly  have  to  be  reckoned 
with  in  a  social  as  well  as  a  literary  sense.  The  writings 
of  Rousseau,  violently  assailed  by  some,  enthusiastically 
praised  by  others,  ended  by  leaving  their  mark  on  the 
world  at  large.  Very  few  may  read  them  nowadays,  but  in 
certain  essential  respects  their  spirit  pervaded  the  nineteenth 
century,  and  their  influence  is  not  dead  yet,  for  the  influ- 
ence which  springs  from  the  eternal  truths  of  nature  cannot 
die.  As  for  the  critics  who  will  undoubtedly  arise  to  dis- 
pute the  likelihood  of  any  great  influence  being  exercised 
by  the  last  writings  of  Emile  Zola,  I  adjourn  them  to  some 
twenty  years  hence.  Rome  was  not  built  in  a  day,  many 
long  years  elapsed  before  the  spirit  of  Rousseau's  writings 
became  fully  disseminated,  and,  although  the  world  moves 
more  quickly  now  than  it  did  then,  time  remains  a  factor  of 
the  greatest  importance. 

Moreover,  the  future  alone  can  decide  the  fate  of  Emile 
Zola's  last  books;  for,  while  dealing  with  problems  of  the 


1164248 


IV  PREFACE 

present  time,  they  are  essentially  books  which  appeal  to  the 
future  for  their  justification.  Each  of  those  three  volumes, 
'  Fe"condite", '  'Travail,'  and  '  Verite*,'  takes  as  its  text  an 
existing  state  of  things,  and  then  suggests  alterations  and 
remedies  which  can  only  be  applied  gradually,  long  years 
being  required  to  bring  about  any  substantial  result.  It  is 
known  that  the  series  was  to  have  comprised  a  fourth  and 
concluding  volume,  which  would  have  been  entitled  '  Jus- 
tice ' ;  and  indeed  the  actual  writing  of  that  volume  would 
have  been  begun  on  September  29  last  if,  at  an  early  hour 
on  that  very  day,  the  hand  of  Emile  Zola  had  not  been 
stayed  for  ever  by  a  tragic  death,  which  a  few  precautions 
would  undoubtedly  have  prevented.  At  an  earlier  stage  it 
was  surmised — on  many  sides  I  see  by  the  newspaper  cut- 
tings before  me — that  this  unwritten  book,  '  Justice,'  would 
deal  chiefly  with  the  Dreyfus  case,  in  which  Zola  played  so 
commanding  and  well-remembered  a  part.  But  that  was  a 
mistake,  a  misconception  of  his  intentions.  Though  his 
work  would  have  embraced  the  justice  dispensed  in  courts 
of  law,  his  chief  thought  was  social  justice,  equity  as  be- 
tween class  and  class,  man  and  man.  And  thus  the  hand 
of  death  at  least  robbed  those  who  are  in  any  way  oppressed 
of  a  powerful  statement  of  their  rights. 

As  for  the  Dreyfus  case,  it  figures  in  the  present  volume, 
or  rather  it  serves  as  the  basis  of  one  of  the  narratives  un- 
folded in  it.  The  Dreyfus  case  certainly  revealed  injus- 
tice; but  it  even  more  particularly  revealed  falsehood,  the 
most  unblushing  and  the  most  egregious  mendacity,  the 
elevation  of  the  suppressio  veri  and  the  suggestio  falsi  to 
the  dignity  of  a  fine  art.  The  world  has  known  greater 
deeds  of  injustice  than  the  Dreyfus  case,  but  never  has  it 
known — and  may  it  never  again  know — such  a  widespread 
exhibition  of  mendacity,  both  so  unscrupulous  and  so  per- 
severing, attended  too  by  the  most  amazing  credulity  on 
the  part  of  nine-tenths  of  the  French  nation — for  small  in- 
deed (at  the  beginning,  at  all  events)  was  the  heroic  band 
which  championed  the  truth.  Behind  all  the  mendacity 


PREFACE  V 

and  credulity,  beyond  the  personages  directly  implicated  in 
the  case,  stood  one  of  the  great  forces  of  the  world,  the 
Roman  Catholic  Church.  Of  all  the  ministers  of  that 
Church  in  France,  only  one  raised  his  voice  in  favour  of 
the  truth,  all  the  others  were  tacitly  or  actively  accomplices 
in  the  great  iniquity.  And  that  will  explain  much  which 
will  be  found  in  F.mile  Zola's  last  book. 

The  horrible  crime  on  which  he  bases  a  part  of  his  nar- 
rative is  not  ascribed  to  any  military  man  (in  fact  the  army 
scarcely  figures  in  '  Verite"  ');  it  is  one  of  the  crimes  spring- 
ing from  the  unnatural  lives  led  by  those  who  have  taken 
vows  in  the  Roman  Church,  of  which  some  record  will  be 
found  in  the  reports  on  criminality  in  France,  which  the 
Keeper  of  the  Seals  issues  every  ten  years.  Many  such 
crimes,  particularly  those  which  are  not  carried  to  the  point 
of  murder,  are  more  or  less  hushed  up,  the  offenders  being 
helped  to  escape  by  their  friends  in  the  Church;  but  suffi- 
cient cases  have  been  legally  investigated  during  the  last 
thirty  years  to  enable  one  to  say  that  the  crime  set  forth  in 
'  Ve'rite'  '  is  not  to  be  regarded  as  altogether  exceptional  in 
its  nature.  The  scene  of  the  book  is  laid  in  the  French 
school  world,  and  by  the  intriguing  of  clericalist  teachers 
the  crime  referred  to  is  imputed  to  a  Jew  schoolmaster. 
Forthwith  there  comes  an  explosion  of  that  anti-Semitism 
— cruelly  and  cowardly  spurred  on  by  the  Roman  Church 
— which  was  the  very  fans  et  origo  of  the  Dreyfus  case. 

On  the  dogmas  of  the  Roman  Church,  and  on  her  teach- 
ing methods  with  the  young,  falls  the  entire  responsibility 
of  such  fanaticism  and  such  credulity.  Republican  France, 
fully  enlightened  respecting  the  Church's  aims  by  many 
circumstances  and  occurrences — the  Dreyfus  case,  the  trea- 
sonable monarchical  spirit  shown  by  her  officers  when  edu- 
cated in  Jesuit  colleges,  the  whole  Nationalist  agitation,  and 
the  very  educational  exhibits  sent  by  the  Religious  Orders 
to  the  last  great  world-show  in  Paris,  exhibits  which  proved 
peremptorily  that  1,600,000  children  were  being  reared  by 
Brothers  and  Sisters  in  hatred  and  contempt  of  the  govern- 


VI  PREFACE 

ment  of  the  country — France  is  now  driving  the  Church 
from  both  the  elementary  and  the  superior  schools.  Those 
who  merely  glance  with  indifference  at  the  Paris  letters  and 
telegrams  appearing  in  the  newspapers  may  be  told  that  a 
great  revolution  is  now  taking  place  in  France,  a  revolution 
partaking  of  some  of  the  features  of  the  Reformation,  a 
change  such  as  England,  for  instance,  has  not  witnessed 
since  Henry  VIII.  and  James  II.  The  effects  of  that 
change  upon  the  world  at  large  may  be  tremendous;  Rome 
knows  it,  and  resists  with  the  tenacity  of  despair;  but  faith 
in  her  dogmas  and  belief  in  her  protestations  have  departed 
from  the  great  majority  of  the  French  electorate;  and, 
driven  from  the  schools,  unable  in  particular  to  continue 
moulding  the  women  by  whom  hitherto  she  has  so  largely 
exercised  her  influence,  the  Church  already  finds  herself  in 
sore  straits,  at  a  loss  almost  how  to  proceed.  By  hook  or 
crook  she  will  resist,  undoubtedly,  to  the  last  gasp;  but 
with  the  secularisation  of  the  whole  educational  system  it 
will  be  difficult  for  her  to  recruit  adherents  in  the  future, 
and  poison  the  national  life  as  she  did  poison  it  throughout 
the  years  of  the  Dreyfus  unrest.  She  sowed  the  storm  and 
now  she  is  reaping  the  whirlwind. 

Besides  the  powerful  '  story  of  a  crime  '  which  is  unfolded 
in  the  pages  of  '  Ve"rite, '  besides  the  discussion  of  political 
and  religious  methods  and  prospects,  and  the  exposition  of 
educational  views  which  will  be  found  in  the  book,  it  has 
other  very  interesting  features.  The  whole  story  of  Marc 
Froment  and  his  struggle  with  his  wife  Genevieve  is  admir- 
able. It  has  appealed  to  me  intensely,  for  personal  reasons, 
though  happily  my  home  never  knew  so  fierce  a  conflict. 
Yet  experience  has  taught  me  what  may  happen  when  man 
and  woman  do  not  share  the  same  faith,  and  how,  over  the 
most  passionate  love,  the  sincerest  affection,  there  may  for 
that  reason  fall  a  blighting  shadow,  difficult  indeed  to  dis- 
pel. And  though  Marc  Froment  at  last  found  his  remedy, 
as  I  found  mine,  living  to  enjoy  long  after-years  of  perfect 
agreement  with  the  chosen  helpmate,  it  is  certain  that  a 


PREFACE  Vll 

difference  of  religious  belief  is  a  most  serious  danger  for  all 
who  enter  the  married  state,  and  that  it  leads  to  the  greatest 
misery,  the  absolute  wrecking  of  many  homes.  In  '  Verit6  ' 
the  subject  is  treated  with  admirable  insight,  force,  and 
pathos;  and  I  feel  confident  that  this  portion  of  the  book 
will  be  read  with  the  keenest  interest. 

Of  the  rest  of  the  work  I  need  hardly  speak  further;  for 
I  should  merely  be  paraphrasing  things  which  will  be  found 
in  it.  Some  of  the  personages  who  figure  in  its  pages  will 
doubtless  be  recognised.  Nobody  acquainted  with  the 
Dreyfus  case  can  doubt,  I  think,  the  identity  of  the  scoun- 
drel who  served  as  the  basis  of  Brother  Gorgias.  Father 
Crabot  also  is  a  celebrity,  and  Simon,  David,  Delbos,  and 
Baron  Nathan  are  drawn  from  life.  There  are  several 
striking  scenes — the  discovery  of  the  crime,  the  arrest  and 
the  first  trial  of  the  Jew  schoolmaster,  the  parting  of  Marc 
from  his  wife,  and  subsequently  from  his  daughter  Louise, 
the  deaths  of  Madame  Berthereau  and  Madame  Duparque, 
and  the  last  public  appearance  of  the  impudent  Gorgias. 
But  amid  all  the  matter  woven  into  the  narrative  one 
never  loses  sight  of  the  chief  theme — the  ignominy  and 
even  the  futility  of  falsehood,  the  debasing  effects  of  cred- 
ulity and  ignorance,  the  health  and  power  that  come  from 
knowledge — this  being  the  stepping-stone  to  truth,  which 
ends  by  triumphing  over  all  things. 

Let  me  add  that  the  book  is  the  longest  as  well  as  the  last 
of  my  dear  master's  writings.  While  translating  it  I  have 
pruned  it  slightly  here  and  there  in  order  to  get  rid  of  sundry 
repetitions.  In  so  long  a  work  some  repetition  is  perhaps 
necessary;  and  it  must  be  remembered  that  with  Emile  Zola 
repetition  was  more  or  less  a  method.  One  blow  seldom, 
if  ever,  sufficed  him;  he  was  bent  on  hammering  his  points 
into  his  reader's  skull.  With  the  last  part  of  '  Ve'rite'  '  I 
have  had  some  little  difficulty,  the  proofs  from  which  my 
translation  has  been  made  containing  some  scarcely  intelli- 
gible passages,  as  well  as  various  errors  in  names  and  facts, 
which  I  have  rectified  as  best  I  could.  These,  however, 


Vlll  PREFA  CE 

are  matters  of  little  moment,  and  can  hardly  affect  the 
work  as  a  whole,  though,  of  course,  it  is  unfortunate  that 
Zola  should  not  have  been  spared  to  correct  his  last  proofs. 

And  now  as  this  is,  in  all  likelihood,  the  last  occasion  on 
which  I  shall  be  privileged  to  present  one  of  his  works  in  an 
English  dress,  may  I  tender  to  all  whom  my  translations 
have  reached — the  hundreds  of  reviewers  and  the  many 
thousands  of  readers  in  the  lands  where  the  English  lan- 
guage is  spoken — my  heartfelt  thanks  for  the  courtesy,  the 
leniency,  the  patience,  the  encouragement,  the  favour  they 
have  shown  to  me  for  several  years  ?  As  I  said  in  a  pre- 
vious preface,  I  am  conscious  of  many  imperfections  in  these 
renderings  of  mine.  I  can  only  regret  that  they  should  not 
have  been  better;  but,  like  others,  I  have  my  limitations. 
At  the  same  time  I  may  say  that  I  have  never  undertaken 
any  of  these  translations  in  a  perfunctory  or  a  mere  mercan- 
tile spirit.  Such  as  they  are,  they  have  been  to  me  essen- 
tially a  labour  of  love.  And  now  that  I  am  about  to  lay 
down  my  pen,  that  I  see  a  whole  period  of  my  life  closing, 
I  think  it  only  right  to  express  my  gratitude  to  all  whose 
support  has  helped  me  to  accomplish  my  self-chosen  task  of 
placing  the  great  bulk  of  Emile  Zola's  writings  within  the 
reach  of  those  Anglo-Saxons  who,  unfortunately,  are  unable 
to  read  French.  My  good  friend  once  remarked  that  it 
was  a  great  honour  and  privilege  to  be,  if  only  for  one  single 
hour,  the  spokesman  of  one's  generation.  I  feel  that  the 
great  honour  and  privilege  of  my  life  will  consist  in  having 
been — imperfectly  no  doubt,  yet  not  I  hope  without  some 
fidelity — his  spokesman  for  ten  years  among  many  thousands 
of  my  race. 

E.  A.  V. 

MERTON,  SURREY,  ENGLAND 
January,  1903 


TRUTH 

BOOK  I 


ON  the  previous  evening,  that  of  Wednesday,  Marc 
Froment,  the  Jonville  schoolmaster,  with  Genevieve 
his  wife  and  Louise  his  little  girl,  had  arrived  at 
Maillebois,  where  he  was  in  the  habit  of  spending  a  month 
of  his  vacation,  in  the  company  of  his  wife's  grandmother 
and  mother,  Madame  Duparque  and  Madame  Berthereau — 
'those  ladies,'  as  folk  called  them  in  the  district.  Maille- 
bois, which  counted  two  thousand  inhabitants  and  ranked 
as  the  chief  place  of  a  canton,  was  only  six  miles  distant 
from  the  village  of  Jonville,  and  less  than  four  from  Beau- 
mont, the  large  old  university  town. 

The  first  days  of  August  were  oppressively  hot  that  year. 
There  had  been  a  frightful  storm  on  the  previous  Sun- 
day, during  the  distribution  .of  prizes;  and  again  that  night, 
about  two  o'clock,  a  deluge  of  rain  had  fallen,  without, 
however,  clearing  the  sky,  which  remained  cloudy,  lower- 
ing, and  oppressively  heavy.  The  ladies,  who  had  risen  at 
six  in  order  to  be  ready  for  seven  o'clock  Mass,  were  al- 
ready in  their  little  dining-room  awaiting  the  younger  folk, 
who  evinced  no  alacrity  to  come  down.  Four  cups  were 
set  out  on  the  white  oilcloth  table-cover,  and  at  last  Pelagic 
appeared  with  the  coffee-pot.  Small  of  build  and  red- 
haired,  with  a  large  nose  and  thin  lips,  she  had  been  twenty 
years  in  Madame  Duparque's  service,  and  was  accustomed 
to  speak  her  mind. 

'Ah!  well,'  said  she,  'the  coffee  will  be  quite  cold,  but 
it  will  not  be  my  fault.' 

When  she  had  returned,  grumbling,  to  her  kitchen, 
Madame  Duparque  also  vented  her  displeasure.  '  It  is 


2  TRUTH 

unbearable,'  she  said;  'one  might  think  that  Marc  took 
pleasure  in  making  us  late  for  Mass  whenever  he  stays 
here.' 

Madame  Berthereau,  who  was  more  indulgent,  ventured 
to  suggest  an  excuse.  '  The  storm  must  have  prevented 
them  from  sleeping,'  she  replied;  'but  I  heard  them  hasten- 
ing overhead  just  now.' 

Three  and  sixty  years  of  age,  very  tall,  with  hair  still  very 
dark,  and  a  frigid,  symmetrically  wrinkled  face,  severe 
eyes,  and  a  domineering  nose,  Madame  Duparque  had  long 
kept  a  draper's  shop,  known  by  the  sign  of  'The  Guardian 
Angel, '  on  the  Place  St.  Maxence,  in  front  of  the  cathedral 
of  Beaumont.  But  after  the  sudden  death  of  her  husband, 
caused,  it  was  said,  by  the  collapse  of  a  Catholic  banking- 
house,  she  had  sensibly  disposed  of  the  business,  and  re- 
tired, with  an  income  of  some  six  thousand  francs  a  year, 
to  Maillebois,  where  she  owned  a  little  house.  This  had 
taken  place  about  twelve  years  previously,  and  her  daugh- 
ter, Madame  Berthereau,  being  also  left  a  widow,  had  joined 
her  with  her  daughter  Genevieve,  who  was  then  entering 
her  eleventh  year.  To  Madame  Duparque,  the  sudden 
death  of  her  son-in-law,  a  State  revenue  employ^  in  whose 
future  she  had  foolishly  believed  but  who  died  poor,  leaving 
his  wife  and  child  on  her  hands,  proved  another  bitter  blow. 
Since  that  time  the  two  widows  had  resided  together  in  the 
dismal  little  house  at  Maillebois,  leading  a  confined,  almost 
claustral,  life,  limited  in  an  increasing  degree  by  the  most 
rigid  religious  practices.  Nevertheless  Madame  Berthereau, 
who  had  been  fondly  adored  by  her  husband,  retained,  as  a 
memento  of  that  awakening  to  love  and  life,  an  affectionate 
gentleness  of  manner.  Tall  and  dark,  like  her  mother,  she 
had  a  sorrowful,  worn,  and  faded  countenance,  with  sub- 
missive eyes  and  tired  lips,  on  which  occasionally  appeared 
her  secret  despair  at  the  thought  of  the  happiness  she  had 
lost. 

It  was  by  one  of  Berthereau 's  friends,  Sal  van,  who,  after 
being  a  schoolmaster  at  Beaumont,  became  an  Inspector  of 
Elementary  Schools  and,  subsequently,  Director  of  the 
Training  College,  that  the  marriage  of  Marc  and  Genevieve 
was  brought  about.  He  was  the  girl's  surrogate-guardian. 
Berthereau,  a  liberal-minded  man,  did  not  follow  the  observ- 
ances of  the  Church,  but  he  allowed  his  wife  to  do  so;  and 
with  affectionate  weakness  he  had  even  ended  by  accom- 
panying her  to  Mass.  In  a  similarly  affectionate  way, 


TRUTH  3 

Salvan,  whose  freedom  of  thought  was  yet  greater  than  his 
friend's,  for  he  relied  exclusively  on  experimental  certainty, 
was  imprudent  enough  to  foist  Marc  into  a  pious  family 
without  troubling  himself  about  any  possibility  of  conflict. 
The  young  people  were  very  fond  of  each  other,  and  in 
Salvan's  opinion  they  would  assuredly  arrange  matters  be- 
tween them.  Indeed,  during  her  three  years  of  married 
life,  Genevieve,  who  had  been  one  of  the  best  pupils  of 
the  Convent  of  the  Visitation  at  Beaumont,  had  gradually 
neglected  her  religious  observances,  absorbed  as  she  was 
in  her  love  for  her  husband.  At  this  Madame  Duparque 
evinced  deep  affliction,  although  the  young  woman,  in  her 
desire  to  please  her,  made  it  a  duty  to  follow  her  to  church 
whenever  she  stayed  at  Maillebois.  But  this  was  not  suffi- 
cient for  the  terrible  old  grandmother,  who  in  the  first  in- 
stance had  tried  to  prevent  the  marriage,  and  who  now 
harboured  a  feeling  of  dark  rancour  against  Marc,  accusing 
him  of  robbing  her  of  her  grandchild's  soul. 

'A  quarter  to  seven ! '  she  muttered  as  she  heard  the 
neighbouring  church  clock  strike.  'We  shall  never  be 
ready! ' 

Then,  approaching  the  window,  she  glanced  at  the  adja- 
cent Place  des  Capucins.  The  little  house  was  built  at  a 
corner  of  that  square  and  the  Rue  de  l'£glise.  On  its 
ground  floor,  to  the  right  and  the  left  of  the  central  passage, 
were  the  dining  and  drawing  rooms,  and  in  the  rear  came 
the  kitchen  and  the  scullery,  which  looked  into  a  dark  and 
mouldy  yard.  Then,  on  the  first  floor,  on  the  right  hand 
were  two  rooms  set  apart  for  Madame  Duparque,  and,  on 
the  left,  two  others  occupied  by  Madame  Berthereau ;  whilst 
under  the  tiles,  in  front  of  Pelagie's  bed-chamber  and  some 
store  places,  were  two  more  little  rooms,  which  had  been 
furnished  for  Genevieve  during  her  girlhood,  and  of  which 
she  gaily  resumed  possession  whenever  she  now  came  to 
Maillebois  with  her  husband.  But  how  dark  was  the  gloom, 
how  heavy  the  silence,  how  tomblike  the  chill  which  fell 
from  the  dim  ceilings!  The  Rue  de  l'£glise,  starting  from 
the  apse  of  the  parish  church  of  St.  Martin,  was  too  narrow 
for  vehicular  traffic;  twilight  reigned  there  even  at  noon- 
tide; the  house-fronts  were  leprous,  the  little  paving-stones 
were  mossy,  the  atmosphere  stank  of  slops.  And  on  the 
northern  side  the  Place  des  Capucins  spread  out  treeless, 
but  darkened  by  the  lofty  front  of  an  old  convent,  which 
had  been  divided  between  the  Capuchins,  who  there  had  a 


4  TRUTH 

large  and  handsome  chapel,  and  the  Brothers  of  the  Chris- 
tian Schools,  who  had  installed  a  very  prosperous  educa- 
tional establishment  in  some  of  the  conventual  dependencies. 

Madame  Duparque  remained  for  a  moment  in  contempla- 
tion of  that  deserted  space,  across  which  flitted  merely  the 
shadowy  figures  of  the  devout;  its  priestly  quietude  being 
enlivened  at  intervals  only  by  the  children  attending  the 
Brothers'  school.  A  bell  rang  slowly  in  the  lifeless  air,  and 
the  old  lady  was  turning  round  impatiently,  when  the  door 
of  the  room  opened  and  Genevieve  came  in. 

'At  last! '  the  grandmother  exclaimed.  'We  must  break- 
fast quickly:  the  first  bell  is  ringing.' 

Fair,  tall,  and  slender,  with  splendid  hair,  and  a  face  all 
life  and  gaiety  inherited  from  her  father,  Genevieve,  child- 
like still,  though  two  and  twenty,  was  laughing  with  a  laugh 
which  showed  all  her  white  teeth.  But  Madame  Duparque, 
on  perceiving  that  she  was  alone,  began  to  protest:  'What! 
is  not  Marc  ready? ' 

'He  's  following  me,  grandmother;  he  is  coming  down 
with  Louise.' 

Then,  after  kissing  her  silent  mother,  Genevieve  gave 
expression  to  the  amusement  she  felt  at  finding  herself  once 
more,  as  a  married  woman,  in  the  quiet  home  of  her  youth. 
Ah!  she  knew  each  paving-stone  of  that  Place  des  Capu- 
cins;  she  found  old  friends  in  the  smallest  tufts  of  weeds. 
And  by  way  of  evincing  amiability  and  gaining  time,  she 
was  going  into  raptures  over  the  scene  she  viewed  from  the 
window,  when  all  at  once,  on  seeing  two  black  figures  pass, 
she  recognised  them. 

'Why,  there  are  Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence! ' 
she  said.  'Where  can  they  be  going  at  this  early  hour? ' 

The  two  clerics  were  slowly  crossing  the  little  square, 
which,  under  the  lowering  sky,  the  shadows  of  their  cas- 
socks seemed  to  fill.  Father  Philibin,  forty  years  of  age 
and  of  peasant  -origin,  displayed  square  shoulders  and  a 
course,  round,  freckled  face,  with  big  eyes,  a  large  mouth, 
and  strong  jaws.  He  was  prefect  of  the  studies  at  the  Col- 
lege of  Valmarie,  a  magnificent  property  which  the  Jesuits 
owned  in  the  environs  of  Maillebois.  Brother  Fulgence, 
likewise  a  man  of  forty,  but  little,  dark,  and  lean,  was  the 
superior  of  the  three  Brothers  with  whom  he  carried  on  the 
neighbouring  Christian  School.  The  son  of  a  servant  girl 
and  a  mad  doctor,  who  had  died  a  patient  in  a  madhouse, 
he  was  of  a  nervous,  irritable  temperament,  with  a  dif 


TRUTH  5 

orderly  overweening  mind ;  and  it  was  he  who  was  now  speak- 
ing to  his  companion  in  a  very  loud  voice  and  with  sweeping 
gestures. 

'The  prizes  are  to  be  given  at  the  Brothers'  school  this 
afternoon,'  said  Madame  Duparque  by  way  of  explanation. 
'Father  Philibin,  who  is  very  fond  of  our  good  Brothers, 
has  consented  to  preside  at  the  distribution.  He  must  have 
just  arrived  from  Valmarie;  and  I  suppose  he  is  going  with 
Brother  Fulgence  to  settle  certain  details.' 

But  she  was  interrupted,  for  Marc  had  at  last  made  his  ap- 
pearance, carrying  his  little  Louise,  who,  scarcely  two  years 
old,  hung  about  his  neck,  playing  and  laughing  blissfully. 

'Puff,  puff,  puff! '  the  young  man  exclaimed  as  he 
entered  the  room.  'Here  we  are  in  the  railway  train. 
One  can't  come  quicker  than  by  train,  eh? ' 

Shorter  than  his  three  brothers,  Mathieu,  Luc,  and  Jean, 
Marc  Froment  had  a  longer  and  a  thinner  face,  with  the 
lofty  towerlike  family  forehead  greatly  developed.  But  his 
particular  characteristics  were  his  spell-working  eyes  and 
voice,  soft  clear  eyes  which  dived  into  one's  soul,  and  an 
engaging  conquering  voice  which  won  both  mind  and  heart. 
Though  he  wore,  moustaches  and  a  slight  beard,  one  could 
see  his  rather  large,  firm,  and  kindly  mouth.  Like  all  the 
sons  of  Pierre  and  Marie  Froment,1  he  had  learned  a  manual 
calling,  that  of  a  lithographer,  and,  securing  his  bachelor's 
degree  when  seventeen  years  of  age,  he  had  come  to  Beau- 
mont to  complete  his  apprenticeship  with  the  Papon- 
Laroches,  the  great  firm  which  supplied  maps  and  diagrams 
to  almost  every  school  in  France.  It  was  at  this  time  that 
his  passion  for  teaching  declared  itself,  impelling  him  to 
enter  the  Training  College  of  Beaumont,  which  he  had 
quitted  in  his  twentieth  year  as  an  assistant-master,  provided 
with  a  superior  certificate.  Having  subsequently  secured 
that  of  Teaching  Capacity,  he  was,  when  seven  and  twenty, 
about  to  be  appointed  schoolmaster  at  Jonville  when  he 
married  Genevieve  Berthereau,  thanks  to  his  good  friend 
Salvan,  who  introduced  him  to  the  ladies,  and  who  was 
moved  by  the  sight  of  the  love  which  drew  the  young  folk 
together.  And  now,  for  three  years  past,  Marc  and  Gene- 
vieve, though  their  means  were  scanty  and  they  experienced 
all  manner  of  pecuniary  straits  and  administrative  worries, 
had  been  leading  a  delightful  life  of  love  in  their  secluded 
village,  which  numbered  barely  eight  hundred  souls. 

1  See  M.  Zola's  novel,  Paris. 


6  TRUTH 

But  the  happy  laughter  of  the  father  and  the  little  girl  did 
not  dissipate  the  displeasure  of  Madame  Duparque.  'That 
railway  train  is  not  worth  the  coaches  of  my  youth,'  said 
she.  'Come,  let  us  breakfast  quickly,  we  shall  never  get 
there. ' 

She  had  seated  herself,  and  was  already  pouring  some 
milk  into  the  cups.  While  Genevieve  placed  little  Louise's 
baby-chair  between  herself  and  her  mother,  in  order  to  keep 
a  good  watch  over  the  child,  Marc,  who  was  in  a  concilia- 
tory mood,  tried  to  secure  the  old  lady's  forgiveness. 

'Yes,  I  have  delayed  you,  eh? '  he  said.  'But  it  is  your 
fault,  grandmother;  one  sleeps  too  soundly  in  your  house, 
it  is  so  very  quiet.' 

Madame  Duparque,  who  was  hurrying  over  her  breakfast, 
with  her  nose  in  her  cup,  did  not  condescend  to  answer. 
But  a  pale  smile  appeared  on  the  face  of  Madame  Berthereau 
after  she  had  directed  a  long  look  at  Genevieve,  who  seemed 
so  happy  between  her  husband  and  her  child.  And  in  a 
low  voice,  as  if  speaking  involuntarily,  the  younger  widow 
murmured,  glancing  slowly  around  her:  'Ye^,  very  quiet, 
so  quiet  that  one  cannot  even  feel  that  one  is  living. ' 

'All  the  same,  there  was  some  noise  on  the  square  at  ten 
o'clock,'  Marc  retorted.  'Genevieve  was  amazed.  The 
idea  of  a  disturbance  at  night  on  the  Place  des  Capucins ! ' 

He  had  blundered  badly  in  his  desire  to  make  the  others 
laugh.  This  time  it  was  the  grandmother  who,  with  an 
offended  air,  replied:  'It  was  the  worshippers  leaving  the 
Capuchin  Chapel.  The  offices  of  the  Adoration  of  the  Holy 
Sacrament  were  celebrated  yesterday  evening  at  nine 
o'clock.  The  Brothers  took  with  them  those  of  their  pupils 
who  attended  their  first  Communion  this  year,  and  the  child- 
ren were  rather  free  in  talking  and  laughing  as  they  crossed 
the  square.  But  that  is  far  better  than  the  abominable  pas- 
times of  the  children  who  are  brought  up  without  moral  or 
religious  guidance! ' 

Silence,  deep  and  embarrassing,  fell  immediately.  Only 
the  rattle  of  the  spoons  in  the  cups  was  to  be  heard.  That 
accusation  of  abominable  pastimes  was  directed  against 
Marc's  school,  with  its  system  of  secular  education.  But, 
as  Genevieve  turned  on  him  a  little  glance  of  entreaty,  he 
did  not  lose  his  temper.  Before  long  he  even  resumed  the 
conversation,  speaking  to  Madame  Berthereau  of  his  life  at 
Jonville,  and  also  of  his  pupils,  like  a  master  who  was  at- 
tached to  them  and  who  derived  from  them  pleasure  and 


TRUTH  7 

satisfaction.     Three,  said  he,  had  just  obtained  the  certifi- 
cate awarded  for  successful  elementary  studies. 

But  at  this  moment  the  church  bell  again  rang  out  slowly, 
sending  a  wail  through  the  heavy  atmosphere  above  the 
mournful,  deserted  district. 

'The  last  bell!  '  cried  Madame  Duparque.  'I  said  that 
we  should  never  get  there  in  time! ' 

She  rose,  and  had  already  begun  to  hustle  her  daughter 
and  her  granddaughter,  who  were  finishing  their  coffee, 
when  Pelagic,  the  servant,  again  appeared,  this  time  trem- 
bling, almost  beside  herself,  and  with  a  copy  of  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais  in  her  hand. 

'Ah!  madame,  madame,  how  horrible!  The  newspaper 
boy  has  just  told  me ' 

'What?     Make  haste!' 

The  servant  was  stifling. 

'That  little  Ze'phirin,  the  schoolmaster's  nephew,  has  just 
been  found  murdered,  there,  quite  near,  in  his  room.' 

'Murdered! ' 

'Yes,  madame;  strangled  in  his  nightdress.  It  is  an 
abominable  affair! ' 

A  terrible  shudder  swept  through  the  room ;  even  Madame 
Duparque  quivered. 

'Little  Z^phirin? '  said  she.  'Ah!  yes,  the  nephew  of 
Simon,  the  Jew  schoolmaster,  a  child  with  a  pretty  face  but 
infirm.  For  his  part  the  lad  was  a  Catholic;  he  went  to  the 
Brothers'  school,  and  he  must  have  been  at  the  ceremony 
last  night,  for  he  took  his  first  Communion  lately. 
But  what  can  you  expect?  Some  families  are  accursed! ' 

Marc  had  listened,  chilled  and  indignant.  And  careless 
now  whether  he  gave  offence  or  not,  he  answered:  'Simon, 
I  know  Simon!  He  was  at  the  Training  College  with  me; 
he  is  only  two  years  older  than  myself.  I  know  nobody 
with  a  firmer  intellect,  a  more  affectionate  heart.  He  had 
given  shelter  to  that  poor  child,  that  Catholic  nephew,  and 
allowed  him  to  attend  the  Brothers'  school,  from  conscien- 
tious scruples  which  are  seldom  found.  What  a  frightful 
blow  has  fallen  on  him! ' 

Then  the  young  man  rose,  quivering:  'I  am  going  to 
him,'  he  added;  'I  want  to  hear  everything,  I  want  to 
sustain  him  in  his  grief.' 

But  Madame  Duparque  no  longer  listened.  She  was 
pushing  Madame  Berthereau  and  Genevieve  outside,  scarcely 
allowing  them  time  to  put  on  their  hats.  The  ringing  of 


8  TRUTH 

the  last  bell  had  just  ceased,  and  the  ladies  hastened  towards 
the  church,  amidst  the  heavy,  storm-laden  silence  of  the  de- 
serted square.  And  Marc,  after  entrusting  little  Louise  to 
Pelagic,  in  his  turn  went  out. 

The  elementary  schools  of  Maillebois,  newly  built  and 
divided  into  two  pavilions,  one  for  boys  and  one  for  girls, 
stood  on  the  Place  de  la  Re"publique,  in  front  of  the  town 
hall,  which  was  also  a  new  building  of  corresponding  archi- 
tecture, and  only  the  High  Street,  really  a  section  of  the 
road  from  Beaumont  to  Jonville  running  across  the  square, 
separated  the  two  edifices,  which  with  their  chalky  white- 
ness were  the  pride  of  the  district.  The  High  Street,  which 
the  parish  church  of  St.  Martin  likewise  faced,  a  little 
further  down,  was,  as  became  a  centre  of  trade,  a  populous 
thoroughfare,  animated  by  the  constant  coming  and  going 
of  pedestrians  and  vehicles.  But  silence  and  solitude  were 
found  again  behind  the  schools,  and  weeds  sprouted  there 
between  the  little  paving-stones.  A  street,  the  Rue  Courte, 
in  which  one  found  but  the  parsonage  and  a  stationer's 
shop  kept  by  Mesdames  Milhomme,  connected  the  sleepy 
end  of  the  Place  de  la  R£publique  with  the  Place  des 
Capucins,  in  such  wise  that  Marc  had  few  steps  to  take. 

The  school  playgrounds  faced  the  Rue  Courte,  and  were 
separated  by  two  little  gardens  set  apart  for  the  school- 
master and  the  schoolmistress.  On  the  ground  floor  of  the 
boys'  pavilion,  at  a  corner  of  the  playground,  was  a  tiny 
room,  which  Simon  had  been  able  to  give  to  little  Ze"phirin 
on  taking  charge  of  him.  The  boy  was  a  nephew  of  his 
wife,  Rachel  Lehmann,  and  a  grandson  of  the  old  Leh- 
manns,  who  were  poor  Jew  tailors,  dwelling  in  the  Rue  du 
Trou,  the  most  wretched  street  of  Maillebois.  Ze"phirin's 
father,  Daniel  Lehmann,  a  mechanician,  had  contracted  a 
love-match  with  a  Catholic  girl,  an  orphan  named  Marie 
Prunier,  who  had  been  reared  by  the  Sisters,  and  was  a 
dressmaker.  The  young  couple  adored  each  other,  and  at 
first  their  son  Zephirin  was  not  baptised  nor  indeed  brought 
up  in  any  religious  faith,  neither  parent  desiring  to  grieve 
the  other  by  rearing  the  child  according  to  his  or  her  par- 
ticular creed.  But  after  the  lapse  of  six  years  a  thunderbolt 
fell:  Daniel  met  with  a  frightful  death,  being  caught  and 
crushed  to  pieces  in  some  machinery  before  the  very  eyes 
of  his  wife,  who  had  come  to  the  works,  bringing  his  lunch 
with  her.  And  Marie,  terrified  by  the  sight,  won  back  to 
the  religion  of  her  youth,  picturing  the  catastrophe  as  the 


TRUTH  9 

chastisement  of  Heaven,  which  thereby  punished  her  for 
her  guilt  in  having  loved  a  Jew,  soon  caused  her  son  to  be 
baptised,  and  sent  him  to  the  Brothers'  school.  Unhappily, 
through  some  hereditary  taint  or  flaw,  the  lad's  frame  be- 
came distorted,  he  grew  gradually  humpbacked ;  in  which 
misfortune  the  mother  imagined  she  could  trace  the  im- 
placable wrath  of  God  pursuing  her  relentlessly,  because 
she  was  unable  to  pluck  from  her  heart  the  fond  memory  of 
the  husband  she  had  adored.  That  anguish,  combined 
with  excessive  toil,  ended  by  killing  her  about  the  time 
when  little  Z£phirin,  having  reached  his  eleventh  birthday, 
was  ready  to  take  his  first  Communion.  It  was  then  that 
Simon,  though  poor  himself,  gave  the  boy  shelter,  in  order 
that  he  might  not  become  a  charge  on  his  wife's  relations. 
At  the  same  time  the  schoolmaster,  who  was  tolerant  as  well 
as  kindhearted,  contented  himself  with  lodging  and  feeding 
his  nephew,  allowing  him  to  communicate  as  a  Catholic  and 
to  complete  his  studies  at  the  Brothers'  school. 

The  little  room  in  which  Z£phirin  slept — formerly  a  kind 
of  lumber-room,  but  tidily  arranged  for  him — had  a  window 
opening  almost  on  a  level  with  the  ground,  behind  the 
school,  the  spot  being  the  most  secluded  of  the  square. 
And  that  morning,  about  seven  o'clock,  as  young  Mignot, 
the  assistant-master,  who  slept  on  the  first  floor  of  the 
building,  went  out,  he  noticed  that  Ze"phirin's  window  was 
wide  open.  Mignot  was  passionately  fond  of  fishing,  and, 
profiting  by  the  arrival  of  the  vacation,  he  was  about  to 
start,  in  a  straw  hat  and  a  linen  jacket,  and  with  his  rod  on 
his  shoulder,  for  the  banks  of  the  Verpille,  a  streamlet 
which  ran  through  the  industrial  quarter  of  Maillebois.  A 
peasant  by  birth,  he  had  entered  the  Beaumont  Training 
College,  even  as  he  might  have  entered  a  seminary,  in  order 
to  escape  the  hard  labour  of  the  fields.  Fair,  with  close- 
cut  hair,  he  had  a  massive  pock-marked  face,  which  gave 
him  an  appearance  of  sternness,  though  he  was  not  hard- 
hearted, being  indeed  rather  kindly  disposed;  but  his  chief 
care  was  to  do  nothing  which  might  impede  his  advance- 
ment. He  was  five  and  twenty  years  of  age,  but  showed  no 
haste  to  get  married,  waiting  in  that  respect  as  in  others, 
and  destined  to  become  such  as  circumstances  might  decree. 
That  morning  he  was  greatly  struck  by  the  sight  of  Z^phirin's 
open  window,  although  there  was  nothing  very  extraordinary 
in  such  a  thing,  for  the  lad  usually  rose  at  an  early  hour. 
However,  the  young  master  drew  near  and  glanced  into  the 


IO  TRUTH 

room.  Then  stupefaction  rooted  him  to  the  spot,  and  his 
horror  found  vent  in  cries. 

'O  God,  the  poor  boy!  O  God,  God,  what  can  have 
happened?  What  a  terrible  misfortune! ' 

The  tiny  room,  with  its  light  wall  paper,  retained  its 
wonted  quietude,  its  suggestion  of  happy  boyhood.  On  the 
table  was  a  coloured  statuette  of  the  Virgin  with  a  few 
books  and  little  prints  of  a  religious  character,  carefully 
arranged  and  classified.  The  small  white  bed  was  in  no 
wise  disarranged,  the  lad  had  not  slept  in  it  that  night. 
The  only  sign  of  disorder  was  an  overturned  chair.  But 
on  the  rug  beside  the  bed  Z£phirin  was  lying  strangled,  his 
face  livid,  his  bare  neck  showing  the  imprint  of  his  mur- 
derer's cruel  fingers.  His  rent  garment  allowed  a  glimpse 
of  his  misshapen  spine,  the  hump,  that  jutted  out  below 
his  left  arm,  which  was  thrown  back  across  his  head. 
In  spite  of  its  bluish  pallor  his  face  retained  its  charm;  it 
was  the  face  of  a  fair  curly-haired  angel,  delicately  girlish, 
with  blue  eyes,  a  slender  nose,  and  a  small  sweet  mouth, 
whose  gentle  laugh  in  happy  hours  had  brought  delightful 
dimples  to  the  child's  cheeks. 

But  Mignot,  quite  beside  himself,  did  not  cease  to  cry  his 
horror  aloud.  'Ah!  God,  God,  how  frightful!  For  God's 
sake  help,  help!  Come  quickly!  ' 

Then  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  the  schoolmistress,  who 
heard  the  cries,  hastened  to  the  spot.  She  had  been  paying 
an  early  visit  to  her  garden,  being  anxious  about  some  let- 
tuces which  the  stormy  weather  was  helping  to  go  to  seed. 
She  was  a  red-haired  woman  of  two  and  thirty,  tall  and 
strongly  built,  with  a  round  freckled  face,  big  grey  eyes, 
pale  lips,  and  a  pointed  nose,  which  denoted  cunning  and 
avaricious  harshness.  Ugly  though  she  was,  her  name  had 
been  associated  with  that  of  the  handsome  Mauraisin,  the 
Elementary  Inspector,  whose  support  ensured  her  advance- 
ment. Moreover  she  was  devoted  to  Abb6  Quandieu,  the 
parish  -priest,  the  Capuchins,  and  even  the  Christian 
Brothers,  and  personally  conducted  her  pupils  to  the  cate- 
chism classes  and  the  church  ceremonies. 

As  soon  as  she  beheld  the  horrid  sight,  she  also  raised 
an  outcry:  'Good  Lord,  take  pity  on  us!  It  is  a  massacre; 
it  is  the  devil's  work,  O  God  of  Mercy! ' 

Then,  as  Mignot  was  about  to  spring  over  the  window- 
bar,  she  prevented  him:  'No,  no,  don't  go  in,  one  must 
ascertain,  one  must  call ' 


TRUTH  II 

As  she  turned  round,  as  if  seeking  somebody,  she  per- 
ceived Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence  emerging 
from  the  Rue  Courte,  on  their  way  from  the  Place  des  Ca- 
pucins,  across  which  Genevieve  had  seen  them  pass.  She 
recognised  them,  and  raised  her  arms  to  heaven,  as  if  at  the 
sight  of  Providence. 

'Oh,  Father!  oh,  Brother!  come,  come  at  once,  the  devil 
has  been  here! ' 

The  two  clerics  drew  near  and  experienced  a  terrible 
shock.  But  Father  Philibin,  who  was  energetic  and  of  a 
thoughtful  bent,  remained  silent,  whereas  impulsive  Brother 
Fulgence,  ever  prompt  to  throw  himself  forward,  burst  into 
exclamations:  'Ah!  the  poor  child,  ah!  what  a  horrid 
crime !  So  gentle  and  so  good  a  lad,  the  best  of  our  pupils, 
so  pious  and  fervent  too!  Come,  we  must  investigate  this 
matter,  we  cannot  leave  things  as  they  are.' 

This  time  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  did  not  dare  to  protest 
as  the  Brother  sprang  over  the  window-bar  followed  by 
Father  Philibin,  who,  having  perceived  a  ball  of  paper 
lying  near  the  boy,  at  once  picked  it  up.  From  fear  or 
rather  prudence  the  schoolmistress  did  not  join  the  others; 
indeed,  she  even  detained  Mignot  outside  for  another  mo- 
ment. That  which  the  ministers  of  the  Deity  might  venture 
to  do  was  not  fit  perhaps  for  mere  teachers.  Meantime,  while 
Brother  Fulgence  bent  over  the  victim  without  touching 
him,  but  again  raising  tumultuous  exclamations,  Father 
Philibin,  still  silent,  unrolled  the  paper  ball,  and,  to  all  ap- 
pearance, examined  it  carefully.  He  was  turning  his  back 
to  the  window,  and  one  could  only  see  the  play  of  his 
elbows,  without  distinguishing  the  paper,  the  rustling  of 
which  could  be  heard.  This  went  on  for  a  few  moments; 
and  when  Mignot,  in  his  turn,  sprang  into  the  room  he  saw 
that  the  ball  which  Father  Philibin  had  picked  up  had  been 
formed  of  a  newspaper,  in  the  midst  of  which  a  narrow, 
crumpled,  and  stained  slip  of  white  paper  appeared. 

The  Jesuit  looked  at  the  assistant-master,  and  quietly 
and  slowly  remarked:  'It  is  a  number  of  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais  dated  yesterday,  August  2 ;  but  the  singular  thing  is 
that,  crumpled  up  in  it,  there  should  be  this  copy-slip  for  a 
writing  lesson.  Just  look  at  it.' 

As  the  slip  had  been  noticed  by  Mignot  already,  Father 
Philibin  could  not  do  otherwise  than  show  it;  but  he  kept 
it  between  his  big  fingers  so  that  the  other  only  distinguished 
the  words,  '  Aimez  vous  ies  uns  Us  autrts '  ('Love  one 


12  TRUTtf 

another')  lithographed  in  a  well-formed  'English*  round- 
hand.  Rents  and  stains  made  this  copy-slip  a  mere  rag  of 
paper,  and  the  assistant-master  gave  it  only  a  brief  glance, 
for  fresh  exclamations  now  arose  at  the  window. 

They  came  from  Marc,  who  had  just  arrived,  and  who 
was  filled  with  horror  and  indignation  at  the  sight  of  the 
poor  little  victim.  Without  listening  to  the  schoolmistress's 
explanations,  he  brushed  her  aside  and  vaulted  over  the 
window-bar.  The  presence  of  the  two  clerics  astonished 
him;  but  he  learnt  from  Mignot  that  he  and  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  had  summoned  them  as  they  were  passing,  im- 
mediately after  the  discovery  of  the  crime. 

'Don't  touch  or  disturb  anything! '  Marc  exclaimed. 
'One  must  at  once  send  to  the  mayor  and  the  gendarmerie.' 

People  were  collecting  already;  and  a  young  man,  who 
undertook  the  suggested  commission,  set  off  at  a  run,  while 
Marc  continued  to  inspect  the  room.  In  front  of  the  body 
he  saw  Brother  Fulgence  distracted  with  compassion,  with 
his  eyes  full  of  tears,  like  a  man  of  nervous  temperament 
unable  to  control  emotion.  Marc  was  really  touched  by  the 
Brother's  demeanour.  He  himself  shuddered  at  the  sight 
of  what  he  beheld,  for  the  abominable  nature  of  the  crime 
was  quite  evident.  And  a  thought,  which  was  to  return 
later  on  as  a  conviction,  suddenly  flitted  through  his  mind, 
then  left  him,  in  such  wise  that  he  was  only  conscious  of 
the  presence  of  Father  Philibin,  who,  full  of  deep  distress- 
ful calm,  still  held  the  newspaper  and  the  writing-copy. 
For  a  moment  the  Jesuit  had  turned  round  as  if  to  look 
under  the  bed;  then,  however,  he  had  stepped  back. 

'  You  see,'  he  said,  without  waiting  to  be  questioned,  'this 
is  what  I  found  on  the  floor,  rolled  into  a  ball,  which  the 
murderer  certainly  tried  to  thrust  into  the  child's  mouth  as 
a  gag,  in  order  to  stifle  his  cries.  As  he  did  not  succeed 
he  strangled  him.  On  this  writing-copy,  soiled  by  saliva, 
one  can  see  the  marks  left  by  the  poor  little  fellow's  teeth. 
The  ball  was  lying  yonder,  near  that  leg  of  the  table.  Is 
that  not  so,  Monsieur  Mignot?  You  saw  it? ' 

'Oh!  quite  so,'  replied  the  assistant-master,  'I  noticed  it 
at  once.' 

As  he  drew  near  again  and  examined  the  copy,  he  felt 
vaguely  surprised  on  noticing  that  the  right-hand  corner  of 
the  slip  of  paper  was  torn  off.  It  seemed  to  him  that  he 
had  not  remarked  that  deficiency  when  the  Jesuit  had  first 
shown  him  the  slip;  but  perhaps  it  had  then  been  hidden 


TRUTH  13 

by  Father  Philibin's  big  fingers.  However,  Mignot's  mem- 
ory grew  confused;  it  would  have  been  impossible  for  him 
to  say  whether  that  corner  had  been  torn  away  in  the  first 
instance  or  not. 

Marc,  however,  having  taken  the  slip  from  the  Jesuit, 
was  studying  it  and  expressing  his  thoughts  aloud:  'Yes, 
yes,  it  has  been  bitten.  But  it  won't  be  much  of  an  indica- 
tion, for  such  slips  are  sold  currently;  one  can  find  them 
everywhere.  Oh!  but  there  is  a  kind  of  flourish  down  here, 
I  see,  some  initialling  which  one  cannot  well  decipher. ' 

Without  any  haste,  Father  Philibin  stepped  up  to  him. 
'Some  initialling?  Do  you  think  so?  It  seemed  to  me  a 
mere  blot,  half  effaced  by  saliva  and  by  the  bite  which 
pierced  the  slip,  close  by.' 

'A  blot,  no!  These  marks  are  certainly  initials,  but  they 
are  quite  illegible.'  Then,  noticing  that  a  corner  of  the  slip 
was  deficient,  Marc  added:  '  That,  no  doubt,  was  done  by 
another  bite.  Have  you  found  the  missing  piece? ' 

Father  Philibin  answered  that  he  had  not  looked  for  it; 
and  he  again  unfolded  the  newspaper  and  examined  it  care- 
fully, while  Mignot,  stooping,  searched  the  floor.  Nothing 
was  found.  Besides,  the  matter  was  regarded  as  being  of 
no  importance.  Marc  agreed  with  the  two  clerics  that  the 
murderer,  seized  with  terror,  must  have  strangled  the  boy 
after  vainly  endeavouring  to  stifle  his  cries  by  stuffing  the 
paper  gag  into  his  mouth.  The  extraordinary  circumstance 
was  that  the  copy-slip  should  have  been  found  rolled  up 
with  the  newspaper.  The  presence  of  a  number  of  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais  could  be  understood,  for  anybody  might  have 
one  in  his  pocket.  But  whence  had  that  slip  come,  how 
did  it  happen  to  be  crumpled,  almost  kneaded,  with  the 
newspaper?  All  sorts  of  suppositions  were  allowable,  and 
the  officers  of  the  law  would  have  to  open  an  investigation 
in  order  to  discover  the  truth. 

To  Marc  it  seemed  as  if  a  calamitous  gust  had  just  swept 
through  the  dim  tragedy,  suddenly  steeping  everything  in 
horrid  night.  'Ah! '  he  murmured  involuntarily,  'it  is 
Crime,  the  monster,  in  the  depths  of  his  dark  pit.' 

Meantime  people  continued  to  assemble  before  the 
window.  On  perceiving  the  throng  the  Mesdames  Mil- 
homme,  who  kept  the  neighbouring  stationery  business,  had 
hastened  from  their  shop.  Madame  Alexandre,  who  was 
tall,  fair,  and  gentle  in  appearance,  and  Madame  Edouard, 
who  was  also  tall  but  dark  and  somewhat  rough,  felt  the 


14  TRUTH 

more  concerned  as  Victor,  the  latter's  son,  went  to  the  Broth- 
ers' school,  while  S^bastien,  the  former's  boy,  attended 
Simon's.  Thus  they  listened  eagerly  to  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire,  who,  standing  in  the  middle  of  the  group,  was 
giving  various  particulars,  pending  the  arrival  of  the  mayor 
and  the  gendarmes. 

'I  went  myself,'  she  said,  'to  that  touching  Adoration  of 
the  Holy  Sacrament  at  the  Capuchin  Chapel  last  evening, 
and  poor  Z£phirin  was  there  with  a  few  schoolfellows — 
those  who  took  their  first  Communion  this  year.  He  edi- 
fied us  all,  he  looked  a  little  angel.' 

'My  son  Victor  did  not  go,  for  he  is  only  nine  years  old,' 
Madame  Edouard  answered.  'But  did  Z£phirin  go  alone? 
Did  nobody  bring  him  back? ' 

'Oh!  the  chapel  is  only  a  few  yards  distant,"  the  school- 
mistress explained.  'I  know  that  Brother  Gorgias  had 
orders  to  escort  the  children  whose  parents  could  not  at- 
tend, and  whose  homes  are  rather  distant.  But  Madame 
Simon  asked  me  to  watch  over  Zephirin,  and  it  was  I  who 
brought  him  back.  He  was  very  gay;  he  opened  the  shut- 
ters, which  were  simply  pushed  to,  and  sprang  into  his 
room  through  the  open  window,  laughing  and  saying  that  it 
was  the  easiest  and  shortest  way.  I  stayed  outside  for  a 
moment,  waiting  until  he  had  lighted  his  candle. ' 

Marc,  drawing  near,  had  listened  attentively.  '  What 
time  was  it?'  he  now  inquired. 

'Exactly  ten,'  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  replied.  'St. 
Martin's  clock  was  striking.' 

The  others  shuddered,  moved  by  that  account  of  the  lad 
springing  so  gaily  into  the  room  where  he  was  to  meet  such 
a  tragic  death.  And  Madame  Alexandre  gently  gave  ex- 
pression to  a  thought  which  suggested  itself  to  all:  'It  was 
hardly  prudent  to  let  the  lad  sleep  by  himself  in  this  lonely 
room,  so  easily  'reached  from  the  square.  The  shutters 
ought  to  have  been  barred  at  night. ' 

'Oh!  he  fastened  them,'  said  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire. 

'Did  he  do  so  last  night  while  you  were  here? '  inquired 
Marc,  intervening  once  more. 

'No,  when  I  left  him  to  go  to  my  rooms  he  had  lighted 
his  candle  and  was  arranging  some  pictures  on  his  table, 
with  the  window  wide  open. ' 

Mignot,  the  assistant-master,  now  joined  in  the  conversa- 
tion. '  This  window  made  Monsieur  Simon  anxious,'  he 
said;  'he  wished  he  could  have  given  the  lad  another  room. 


TRUTH  15 

He  often  recommended  him  to  fasten  the  shutters  carefully. 
But  I  fear  that  the  child  paid  little  heed. ' 

The  two  clerics  in  their  turn  had  now  decided  to  quit  the 
room.  Father  Philibin,  after  laying  the  number  of  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais  and  the  copy-slip  on  the  table,  had  ceased 
speaking,  preferring  to  look  and  listen;  and  he  followed 
very  attentively  each  word  and  gesture  that  came  from 
Marc,  while  Brother  Fulgence,  for  his  part,  continued  to 
relieve  himself  with  lamentations.  Eventually  the  Jesuit, 
who  seemed  to  read  the  young  schoolmaster's  thoughts  in 
his  eyes,  remarked  to  him:  'So  you  think  that  some  tramp, 
some  night  prowler,  seeing  the  boy  alone  in  this  room,  may 
have  got  in  by  the  window? ' 

From  prudence  Marc  would  express  no  positive  opinion. 
'Oh!  I  think  nothing,'  said  he;  'it  is  for  the  law  to  seek 
and  find  the  murderer.  However,  the  bed  has  not  been 
opened,  the  boy  was  certainly  about  to  get  into  it,  and  this 
seems  to  show  that  the  crime  must  have  been  committed 
shortly  after  ten  o'clock.  Suppose  that  he  busied  him- 
self for  half  an  hour  at  the  utmost  with  his  pictures,  and 
that  he  then  saw  a  stranger  spring  into  his  room.  In 
that  case  he  would  have  raised  a  cry,  which  would  cer- 
tainly have  been  heard.  You  heard  nothing,  did  you, 
mademoiselle? ' 

'No,  nothing, '  the  schoolmistress  replied.  'I  myself  went 
to  bed  about  half-past  ten.  The  neighbourhood  was  very 
quiet.  The  storm  did  not  awaken  me  until  about  one 
o'clock  this  morning.' 

'  Very  little  of  the  candle  has  been  burnt,'  Mignot  now 
observed.  '  The  murderer  must  have  blown  it  out  as  he 
went  off  by  the  window,  which  he  left  wide  open,  as  I 
found  it  just  now.' 

These  remarks,  which  lent  some  weight  to  the  theory  of 
a  prowler  springing  into  the  room,  ill-usirlg  and  murdering 
the  boy,  increased  the  horror-fraught  embarrassment  of  the 
bystanders.  All  wished  to  avoid  being  compromised,  and 
therefore  kept  to  themselves  their  thoughts  respecting  the 
impossibilities  or  improbabilities  of  the  theory  which  had 
been  propounded.  After  a  pause,  however,  as  the  mayor 
and  the  gendarmes  did  not  appear,  Father  Philibin  in- 
quired: 'Is  not  Monsieur  Simon  at  Maillebois? ' 

Mignot,  who  had  not  recovered  from  the  shock  of  his 
discovery,  gazed  at  the  Jesuit  with  haggard  eyes.  To 
bring  the  assistant-master  to  his  senses,  Marc  himself  had 


l6  TRUTH 

to  express  his  astonishment:  'But  Simon  is  surely  in  his 
rooms!  Has  he  not  been  told? ' 

'  Why  no!  '  the  assistant  answered,  'I  must  have  lost  my 
head.  Monsieur  Simon  went  to  attend  a  banquet  at  Beau- 
mont yesterday  evening,  but  he  certainly  came  home  during 
the  night.  His  wife  is  rather  poorly;  they  must  be  still  in 
bed.' 

It  was  now  already  half-past  seven,  but  the  stormy  sky 
remained  so  dark  and  heavy  that  one  might  have  thought 
dawn  was  only  just  appearing  in  that  secluded  corner  of  the 
square.  However,  the  assistant-master  made  up  his  mind 
and  ascended  the  stairs  to  fetch  Simon.  What  a  happy 
awakening  it  would  be  for  the  latter,  he  muttered  sarcasti- 
cally, and  what  an  agreeable  commission  for  himself  was 
that  which  he  had  to  fulfil  with  his  chief! 

Simon  was  the  younger  son  of  a  Jew  clockmaker  of  Beau- 
mont ;  he  had  a  brother,  David,  who  was  his  elder  by  three 
years.  When  he  was  fifteen  and  David  eighteen  their 
father,  ruined  by  lawsuits,  succumbed  to  a  sudden  attack 
of  apoplexy ;  and  three  years  later  their  mother  died  in  very 
straitened  circumstances.  Simon  had  then  just  entered 
the  Training  College,  while  David  joined  the  army.  The 
former,  quitting  the  college  at  an  early  age,  became  assistant- 
master  at  Dherbecourt,  a  large  bourg  of  the  district,  where 
he  remained  nearly  ten  years.  There  also,  in  his  twenty- 
sixth  year,  he  married  Rachel  Lehmann,  the  daughter  of 
the  little  tailor  of  the  Rue  du  Trou,  who  had  a  fair  number 
of  customers  at  Maillebois.  Rachel,  a  brunette  with  mag- 
nificent hair  and  large  caressing  eyes,  was  very  beautiful. 
Her  husband  adored  her,  encompassed  her  with  passionate 
worship.  Two  children  had  been  born  to  them,  a  boy, 
Joseph,  now  four,  and  a  girl,  Sarah,  two  years  of  age. 
And  Simon,  duly  provided  with  a  certificate  of  Teaching 
Capacity,  was  proud  of  the  fact  that  at  two  and  thirty  he 
should  be  schoolmaster  at  Maillebois — where  he  had  now 
dwelt  a  couple  of  years — for  this  was  an  instance  of  rapid 
advancement. 

Marc,  though  he  disliked  the  Jews  by  reason  of  a  sort  of 
hereditary  antipathy  and  distrust,  the  causes  of  which  he 
had  never  troubled  to  analyse,  retained  a  friendly  recollec- 
tion of  Simon,  whom  he  had  known  at  the  Training  College. 
He  declared  him  to  be  extremely  intelligent,  a  very  good 
teacher,  full  of  a  sense  of  duty.  But  he  found  him  too 
attentive  to  petty  details,  too  slavishly  observant  of  regu- 


TRUTH  I/ 

lations,  which  he  followed  to  the  very  letter,  ever  bending 
low  before  discipline,  as  if  fearful  of  a  bad  report  and  the 
dissatisfaction  of  his  superiors.  In  this  Marc  traced  the 
terror  and  humility  of  the  Jewish  race,  persecuted  for  so 
many  centuries,  and  ever  retaining  a  dread  of  outrage  and 
iniquity.  Moreover,  Simon  had  good  cause  for  prudence, 
for  his  appointment  at  Maillebois,  that  clerical  little  town 
with  its  powerful  Capuchin  community  and  its  Brothers' 
school,  had  caused  almost  a  scandal.  It  was  only  by  dint 
of  correctitude  and  particularly  of  ardent  patriotism  among 
his  pupils,  such  as  the  glorification  of  France  as  a  military 
power,  the  foretelling  of  national  glory  and  a  supreme  po- 
sition among  the  nations,  that  Simon  obtained  forgiveness 
for  being  a  Jew. 

He  now  suddenly  made  his  appearance,  accompanied  by 
Mignot.  Short,  thin,  and  sinewy,  he  had  red,  closely- 
cropped  hair  and  a  sparse  beard.  His  blue  eyes  were  soft, 
his  mouth  was  well  shaped,  his  nose  of  the  racial  type,  long 
and  slender;  yet  his  physiognomy  was  scarcely  prepossess- 
ing, it  remained  vague,  confused,  paltry;  and  at  that  mo- 
ment he  was  so  terribly  upset  by  the  dreadful  tidings  that, 
as  he  appeared  before  the  others,  staggering  and  stammer- 
ing, one  might  have  thought  him  intoxicated. 

'Great  God!  is  it  possible?'  he  gasped.  'Such  villainy, 
such  monstrosity! ' 

But  he  reached  the  window,  where  he  remained  like  one 
overwhelmed,  unable  to  speak  another  word,  and  shudder- 
ing from  head  to  foot,  his  glance  fixed  meanwhile  on  the 
little  victim.  Those  who  were  present,  the  two  clerics,  the 
lady  stationers,  and  the  schoolmasters,  watched  him  in 
silence,  astonished  that  he  did  not  weep. 

Marc,  stirred  by  compassion,  took  hold  of  his  hands  and 
embraced  him:  'Come,  you  must  muster  your  courage; 
you  need  all  your  strength, '  he  said  to  him. 

But  Simon,  without  listening,  turned  to  his  assistant. 
'Pray  go  back  to  my  wife,  Mignot,'  he  said;  'I  do  not  want 
her  to  see  this.  She  was  very  fond  of  her  nephew,  and  she 
is  too  poorly  to  be  able  to  bear  such  a  horrible  sight. ' 

Then,  as  the  young  man  went  off,  he  continued  in  broken 
accents:  'Ah!  what  an  awakening!  For  once  in  a  while 
we  were  lying  late  in  bed.  My  poor  Rachel  was  still 
asleep,  and,  as  I  did  not  wish  to  disturb  her,  I  remained 
by  her  side,  thinking  of  our  holiday  pleasures.  I  roused 
her  late  last  night  when  I  came  home,  and  she  did  not  get 


1 8  TRUTH 

to  sleep  again  till  three  in  the  morning,  for  the  storm  upset 
her.' 

'What  time  was  it  when  you  came  home?  '  Marc  inquired. 

'Exactly  twenty  minutes  to  twelve.  My  wife  asked  me 
the  time  and  I  looked  at  the  clock.' 

This  seemed  to  surprise  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  who  re- 
marked: 'But  there  is  no  train  from  Beaumont  at  that  hour.' 

'I  did  n't  come  back  by  train,'  Simon  explained.  'The 
banquet  lasted  till  late,  I  missed  the  10.30  train,  and  rather 
than  wait  for  the  one  at  midnight  I  decided  to  walk  the 
distance.  I  was  anxious  to  join  my  wife.' 

Father  Philibin  still  preserved  silence  and  calmness;  but 
Brother  Fulgence,  unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer, 
began  to  question  Simon. 

'  Twenty  minutes  to  twelve !  Then  the  crime  must  have 
been  committed  already.  You  saw  nothing?  You  heard 
nothing? ' 

'Nothing  at  all.  The  square  was  deserted,  the  storm 
was  beginning  to  rumble  in  the  distance.  I  did  not  meet  a 
soul.  All  was  quiet  in  the  house. ' 

'  Then  it  did  not  occur  to  you  to  go  to  see  if  poor  Ze"phirin 
had  returned  safely  from  the  chapel,  and  if  he  were  sleeping 
soundly?  Did  you  not  pay  him  a  visit  every  evening?' 

'No,  he  was  already  a  very  shrewd  little  man,  and  we 
left  him  as  much  liberty  as  possible.  Besides,  the  place 
was  so  quiet,  there  was  nothing  to  suggest  any  reason  for 
disturbing  his  sleep.  I  went  straight  upstairs  to  my  room, 
making  the  least  possible  noise.  I  kissed  my  children,  who 
were  asleep,  then  I  went  to  bed;  and,  well  pleased  to  find 
my  wife  rather  better,  I  chatted  with  her  in  an  undertone.' 

Father  Philibin  nodded  as  if  approvingly,  and  then  re- 
marked: 'Evidently  everything  can  be  accounted  for.' 

The  bystanders  seemed  convinced;  the  theory  of  a 
prowler  committing  the  crime  about  half-past  ten  o'clock, 
entering  and  leaving  the  room  by  the  window,  seemed  more 
and  more  probable.  Simon's  statement  confirmed  the  in- 
formation given  by  Mignot  and  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire. 
Moreover,  the  Mesdames  Milhomme,  the  stationers,  as- 
serted that  they  had  seen  an  evil-looking  man  roaming 
about  the  square  at  nightfall. 

'There  are  so  many  rascals  on  the  roads!"  said  the  Jesuit 
Father  by  way  of  conclusion.  '  We  must  hope  that  the 
police  will  set  hands  on  the  murderer,  though  such  a  task 
is  not  always  an  easy  one.' 


TRUTH  IQ 

Marc  alone  experienced  a  feeling  of  uncertainty.  Al- 
though he  had  been  the  first  to  think  it  possible  that  some 
stranger  might  have  sprung  on  Z^phirin,  he  had  gradually 
realised  that  there  was  little  probability  of  such  an  occur- 
rence. Was  it  not  more  likely  that  the  man  had  been  ac- 
quainted with  the  boy  and  had  at  first  approached  him  as  a 
friend?  Then,  however,  had  come  the  abominable  impulse, 
horror  and  murder,  strangulation  as  a  last  resource  to  stifle 
the  victim's  cries,  followed  by  flight  amidst  a  gust  of  terror. 
But  all  this  remained  very  involved ;  and  after  some  brief 
perception  of  its  probability  Marc  relapsed  into  darkness, 
into  the  anxiety  born  of  contradictory  suppositions.  He 
contented  himself  with  saying  to  Simon,  by  way  of  calming 
him:  'All  the  evidence  agrees:  the  truth  will  soon  be  made 
manifest. ' 

At  that  moment,  just  as  Mignot  returned  after  prevailing 
on  Madame  Simon  to  remain  in  her  room,  Darras,  the 
Mayor  of  Maillebois,  arrived  with  three  gendarmes.  A 
building  contractor,  on  the  high  road  to  a  considerable 
fortune,  Darras  was  a  stout  man  of  forty-two,  with  a  fair, 
round,  pinky,  clean-shaven  face.  He  immediately  ordered 
the  shutters  to  be  closed  and  placed  two  gendarmes  outside 
the  window,  while  the  third,  entering  the  house  passage, 
went  to  guard  the  door  of  the  room,  which  Z^phirin  never 
locked.  From  this  moment  the  orders  were  that  nothing 
should  be  touched,  and  that  nobody  should  even  approach 
the  scene  of  the  crime.  On  hearing  of  it  the  mayor  had 
immediately  telegraphed  to  the  Public  Prosecution  Office 
at  Beaumont,  and  the  magistrates  would  surely  arrive  by 
the  first  train. 

Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence  now  spoke  of  hav- 
ing to  attend  to  various  matters  connected  with  the  distribu- 
tion of  prizes  which  was  to  take  place  in  the  afternoon,  and 
Darras  advised  them  to  make  haste  and  then  return,  for, 
said  he,  the  Procureur  de  la  R6publique,  otherwise  the 
Public  Prosecutor,  would  certainly  wish  to  question  them 
about  the  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  and  the  copy-slip 
found  near  the  body.  So  the  two  clerics  took  their  de- 
parture; and  while  the  gendarmes,  stationed  on  the  square 
outside  the  window,  with  difficulty  restrained  the  now  in- 
creasing crowd,  which  became  violent  and  raised  threatening 
cries,  demanding  the  execution  of  the  unknown  murderer, 
Simon  again  went  into  the  building  with  Darras,  Marc, 
Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  and  Mignot,  the  whole  party 


20  TRUTH 

waiting  in  a  large  classroom  lighted  by  broad  windows 
which  faced  the  playground. 

It  was  now  eight  o'clock,  and  after  a  sudden  stormy  rain- 
fall, the  sky  cleared,  and  the  day  became  a  splendid  one. 
An  hour  elapsed  before  the  magistrates  arrived.  The  Pro- 
cureur  de  la  Re"publique,  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere,  came  in 
person,  accompanied  by  Daix,  the  Investigating  Magistrate. 
Both  were  moved  by  the  magnitude  of  the  crime  and  fore- 
saw a  great  trial.  La  Bissonniere,  a  dapper  little  man  with 
a  doll-like  face,  and  whiskers  of  a  correct  legal  cut,  was 
very  ambitious.  Not  content  with  his  rapid  advancement 
to  the  post  he  held — he  was  only  forty-five — he  was  ever  on 
the  watch  for  some  resounding  case  which  would  launch 
him  in  Paris,  where,  thanks  to  his  suppleness  and  address, 
his  complaisant  respect  for  the  powers  of  the  day,  whatever 
they  might  be,  he  relied  on  securing  a  high  position.  On 
the  other  hand,  Daix,  tall  and  lean,  with  a  sharp-cut  face, 
was  a  type  of  the  punctilious  Investigating  Magistrate,  de- 
voted to  his  professional  duties.  But  he  was  also  of  an 
anxious  and  timid  nature,  for  his  ugly  but  coquettish  and 
extravagant  wife,  exasperated  by  the  poverty  of  their  home, 
terrorised  and  distressed  him  with  her  bitter  reproaches  re- 
specting his  lack  of  ambition. 

On  reaching  the  schools  the  legal  functionaries,  before 
taking  any  evidence,  desired  to  visit  the  scene  of  the  crime. 
Simon  and  Darras  accompanied  them  to  Ze"phirin's  bed- 
chamber while  the  others,  who  were  soon  joined  by  Father 
Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence,  waited  in  the  large  class- 
room. When  the  magistrates  returned  thither,  they  had 
verified  all  the  material  features  of  the  crime,  and  were 
acquainted  with  the  various  circumstances  already  known 
to  the  others.  They  brought  with  them  the  number  of  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  and  the  copy-slip,  to  which  they  seemed 
to  attach  extreme  importance.  At  once  seating  themselves 
at  Simon's  table,  they  examined  those  two  pieces  of  evi- 
dence, exchanging  impressions  concerning  them,  and  then 
showing  the  copy-slip  to  the  two  schoolmasters,  Simon  and 
Marc,  as  well  as  to  the  schoolmistress  and  the  clerics.  But 
this  was  only  done  by  way  of  eliciting  some  general  in- 
formation, for  no  clerk  was  present  to  record  a  formal  inter- 
rogatory. 

'Oh!  those  copies,'  Marc  replied,  'are  used  currently  in 
all  the  schools,  in  the  secular  ones  as  well  as  in  those  of  the 
religious  orders.' 


TRUTH  21 

This  was  confirmed  by  Brother  Fulgence.  'Quite  so,' 
said  he;  'similar  ones  would  be  found  at  our  school,  even 
as  there  must  be  some  here. ' 

La  Bissonniere,  however,  desired  more  precise  informa- 
tion. 'But  do  you  remember  having  placed  this  one  in  the 
hands  of  any  of  your  pupils? '  he  asked  Simon.  '  Those 
words  "Love  one  another"  must  have  struck  you.' 

'  That  copy  was  never  used  here, '  Simon  answered  flatly. 
'As  you  point  out,  monsieur,  I  should  have  recollected  it.' 

The  same  question  was  then  addressed  to  Brother  Ful- 
gence, who  at  first  evinced  some  little  hesitation.  'I  have 
three  Brothers  with  me — Brothers  Isidore,  Lazarus,  and 
Gorgias, '  he  replied,  'and  it  is  difficult  for  me  to  avouch 
anything. ' 

Then,  in  the  deep  silence  which  was  falling,  he  added: 
'But  no,  no,  that  copy  was  never  used  at  our  school,  for  it 
would  have  come  before  me. ' 

The  magistrates  did  not  insist  on  the  point.  For  the  time 
being  they  did  not  wish  the  importance  which  they  attached 
to  the  slip  to  become  too  manifest.  They  expressed  their 
surprise,  however,  that  the  missing  corner  of  it  had  not 
been  found. 

'Do  not  these  slips  sometimes  bear  in  one  corner  a  stamp 
of  the  school  to  which  they  belong? '  Daix  inquired.  Brother 
Fulgence  had  to  admit  that  it  was  so,  but  Marc  protested 
that  he  had  never  stamped  any  copy-slips  used  in  his  school. 

'Excuse  me,'  declared  Simon  in  his  tranquil  way,  'I  have 
some  slips  here  on  which  a  stamp  would  be  found.  But  I 
stamp  them  down  below — here! ' 

Perceiving  the  perplexity  of  the  magistrates,  Father 
Philibin,  hitherto  silent  and  attentive,  indulged  in  a  light 
laugh.  '  This  shows,'  he  said,  'how  difficult  it  is  to  arrive 
at  the  truth.  ...  By  the  way,  Monsieur  le  Procureur 
de  la  Re"publique,  matters  are  much  the  same  with  the  stain 
which  you  are  now  examining.  One  of  us  fancied  it  to  be 
some  initialling,  a  kind  of  flourish.  But,  for  my  part,  I  be- 
lieve it  to  be  a  blot  which  some  pupil  tried  to  efface  with 
his  finger.' 

'Is  it  usual  for  the  masters  to  initial  the  copy-slips? ' 
asked  Daix. 

'Yes,'  Brother  Fulgence  acknowledged,  'that  is  done  at 
our  school.' 

'Ah!  no,'  cried  Simon  and  Marc  in  unison,  'we  never  do 
it  in  the  Communal  schools. ' 


22  TRUTH 

'You  are  mistaken,'  said  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  'al- 
though I  do  not  stamp  my  copies,  I  have  sometimes  in- 
itialled them.' 

With  a  wave  of  the  hand  La  Bissonniere  stopped  the  dis- 
cussion, for  he  knew  by  experience  what  a  muddle  is  reached 
when  one  enters  into  secondary  questions  of  personal  habits. 
The  copy-slip,  the  missing  corner  of  it,  the  possible  exist- 
ence of  a  stamp  and  a  paraph  would  all  have  to  be  studied 
in  the  course  of  the  investigation.  For  the  moment  he  now 
contented  himself  with  asking  the  witnesses  to  relate  how 
the  crime  had  been  discovered.  Mignot  had  to  say  that  the 
open  window  had  attracted  his  attention  and  that  he  had 
raised  an  outcry  on  perceiving  the  victim's  body.  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire  explained  how  she  had  hastened  to  the 
spot  and  how,  on  the  previous  evening,  she  had  brought 
Zephirin  home  from  the  Capuchin  Chapel,  when  he  had 
sprung  into  the  room  by  the  window.  Father  Philibin  and 
Brother  Fulgence  in  their  turn  related  how  chance  had  con- 
nected them  with  the  tragedy,  in  what  condition  they  had 
found  the  room,  and  in  what  particular  spot  they  had  dis- 
covered the  paper  gag,  which  they  had  merely  unfolded  be- 
fore placing  it  on  the  table.  Finally,  Marc  indicated  a  few 
observations  which  he  had  made  on  his  arrival,  subsequent 
to  that  of  the  others. 

La  Bissonniere  thereupon  turned  to  Simon  and  began  to 
question  him :  '  You  have  told  us  that  you  came  home  at 
twenty  minutes  to  twelve,  and  that  the  whole  house  then 
seemed  to  you  to  be  perfectly  quiet.  Your  wife  was 
asleep ' 

At  this  point  Daix  interrupted  his  superior:  'Monsieur  le 
Procureur,'  said  he,  'is  it  not  advisable  that  Madame 
Simon  should  be  present?  Could  she  not  come  down  here 
a  moment? ' 

La  Bissonniere  nodded  assent,  and  Simon  went  to  fetch 
his  wife,  who  soon  made  her  appearance. 

Rachel,  attired  in  a  plain  morning  wrap  of  unbleached 
linen,  looked  so  beautiful  as  she  entered  the  room  amidst 
the  deep  silence,  that  a  little  quiver  of  admiration  and  ten- 
der sympathy  sped  by.  Hers  was  the  Jewish  beauty  in  its 
flower,  a  delightfully  oval  face,  splendid  black  hair,  a  gilded 
skin,  large  caressing  eyes,  and  a  red  mouth  with  speckless, 
dazzling  teeth.  And  one  could  tell  that  she  was  all  love, 
a  trifle  indolent,  living  in  seclusion  in  her  home,  with  her 
husband  and  her  children,  like  a  woman  of  the  East  in  her 


TRUTH  23 

little  secret  garden.  Simon  was  about  to  close  the  door 
behind  her,  when  the  two  children,  Joseph  and  Sarah,  four 
and  two  years  old  respectively,  and  both  of  them  strong  and 
flourishing,  ran  in,  although  they  had  been  forbidden  to 
come  downstairs.  And  they  sought  refuge  in  the  folds  of 
their  mother's  wrap,  where  the  magistrates,  by  a  gesture, 
intimated  they  might  remain. 

The  gallant  La  Bissonniere,  moved  by  the  sight  of  such 
great  beauty,  imparted  a  flute-like  accent  to  his  voice  as  he 
asked  Rachel  a  few  questions:  'It  was  twenty  minutes  to 
twelve,  madame,  was  it  not,  when  your  husband  came 
home? ' 

'  Yes,  monsieur,  he  looked  at  the  clock.  And  he  was  in 
bed  and  we  were  still  chatting  in  an  undertone  and  with  the 
light  out,  in  order  that  the  children  might  not  be  roused, 
when  we  heard  midnight  strike.' 

'But  before  your  husband's  arrival,  madame,  between 
half-past  ten  and  half-past  eleven,  did  you  hear  nothing,  no 
footsteps  nor  talking,  no  sounds  of  struggling,  nor  stifled 
cries? ' 

'No,  absolutely  nothing,  monsieur.  I  was  asleep.  It 
was  my  husband's  entry  into  our  room  which  awoke  me. 
He  had  left  me  feeling  poorly,  and  he  was  so  pleased  to  find 
me  better  that  he  began  to  laugh  as  he  kissed  me,  and  I 
made  him  keep  quiet  for  fear  lest  the  others  should  be  dis- 
turbed, so  deep  was  the  silence  around  us.  Ah !  how  could 
we  have  imagined  that  such  a  frightful  misfortune  had 
fallen  on  the  house ! ' 

She  was  thoroughly  upset,  and  tears  coursed  down  her 
cheeks,  while  she  turned  towards  her  husband  as  if  for  con- 
solation and  support.  And  he,  weeping  now  at  the  sight  of 
her  grief,  and  forgetting  where  he  was,  caught  her  passion- 
ately in  his  arms,  and  kissed  her  with  infinite  tenderness. 
The  two  children  raised  their  heads  anxiously.  There  was 
a  moment  of  deep  emotion  and  compassionate  kindliness,  in 
which  all  participated. 

'I  was  rather  surprised  at  the  time  because  there  is  no 
train  at  that  hour,'  resumed  Madame  Simon  of  her  own 
accord.  'But  when  my  husband  was  in  bed  he  told  me 
how  it  happened.' 

'Yes,'  Simon  explained,  'I  could  not  do  otherwise  than 
attend  that  banquet;  but  when,  on  reaching  the  station  at 
Beaumont,  I  saw  the  half-past  ten  o'clock  train  steaming 
away  before  my  eyes,  I  felt  so  annoyed  that  I  would  not 


24  TRUTH 

wait  for  the  train  at  midnight,  but  set  out  on  foot  at  once. 
A  walk  of  less  than  four  miles  is  nothing  to  speak  of.  The 
night  was  very  beautiful,  very  warm.  .  .  .  About  one 
o'clock,  when  the  storm  burst,  I  was  still  talking  softly  to 
my  wife,  telling  her  how  I  had  spent  my  evening,  for  she 
could  not  get  to  sleep  again.  It  was  that  which  kept  us 
late  in  bed  this  morning,  ignorant  of  the  dreadful  blow  that 
had  fallen  on  us.' 

Then,  as  Rachel  began  to  weep  again,  he  once  more 
kissed  her,  like  a  lover  and  like  a  father.  'Come,  my  darl- 
ing, calm  yourself.  We  loved  the  poor  little  fellow  with 
all  our  hearts,  and  we  have  no  cause  for  self-reproach  in 
this  abominable  catastrophe.' 

That  was  also  the  opinion  of  the  onlookers.  Darras,  the 
mayor,  professed  great  esteem  for  the  zealous  and  honest 
schoolmaster  Simon.  Mignot  and  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire, 
although  by  no  means  fond  of  the  Jews,  shared  the  opinion 
that  this  one  at  all  events  strove  by  irreproachable  conduct 
to  obtain  forgiveness  for  his  birth.  Father  Philibin  and 
Brother  Fulgence  on  their  side,  in  presence  of  the  general 
sentiment  of  the  others,  affected  neutrality,  remaining  apart 
and  preserving  silence,  while  with  keen  eyes  they  scrutinised 
people  and  things.  The  magistrates,  thrown  back  on  the 
theory  of  some  stranger  who  must  have  entered  and  left  the 
boy's  room  by  the  window,  had  to  rest  content  with  this 
first  verification  of  the  facts.  Only  one  point  as  yet  was 
clearly  established,  the  hour  of  the  crime,  which  must  have 
been  perpetrated  between  half-past  ten  and  eleven  o'clock. 
As  for  the  crime  itself  it  remained  engulfed  in  darkness. 

Leaving  the  authorities,  who  had  certain  details  to  settle, 
Marc,  after  embracing  Simon  in  brotherly  fashion,  was  de- 
sirous of  going  home  to  lunch.  The  scene  between  the 
husband  and  the  wife  had  taught  him  nothing,  for  he  well 
knew  how  tenderly  they  loved  each  other.  But  tears  had 
come  to  his  eyes,  he  had  been  deeply  stirred  by  the  sight  of 
such  dolorous  affection. 

Noon  was  about  to  strike  at  St.  Martin's  Church  when  he 
again  found  himself  on  the  square,  which  was  now  blocked 
by  such  an  increasing  crowd  that  it  was  difficult  for  him  to 
open  a  way.  As  the  news  of  the  crime  spread,  folk  arrived 
from  all  directions,  pressing  towards  the  closed  window, 
which  the  two  gendarmes  could  hardly  defend;  and  the 
horribly  exaggerated  accounts  of  the  affair  which  circulated 
through  the  crowd  raised  its  indignation  to  fever  heat  and 


TRUTH  25 

made  it  growl  wrathfully.  Marc  had  just  freed  himself  from 
the  throng  when  a  priest  approached  him  and  inquired: 

'Have  you  come  from  the  school,  Monsieur  Froment? 
Are  all  these  horrible  things  which  people  are  repeating 
true? ' 

The  questioner  was  Abbe"  Quandieu,  priest  of  St.  Mar- 
tin's, the  parish  church.  Forty-three  years  old,  tall  and 
robust,  the  Abbe"  had  a  gentle,  kindly  face,  with  light  blue 
eyes,  round  cheeks,  and  a  soft  chin.  Marc  had  met  him 
at  Madame  Duparque's,  for  he  was  the  old  lady's  confessor 
and  friend.  And  though  the  schoolmaster  was  not  fond  of 
priests  he  felt  some  esteem  for  this  one,  knowing  that  he 
was  tolerant  and  reasonable — possessed,  too,  of  more  feel- 
ing than  real  mental  ability. 

In  a  few  words  Marc  recounted  the  facts  of  the  case, 
which  were  already  sufficiently  horrid. 

'Ah,  poor  Monsieur  Simon ! '  said  the  priest  compassion- 
ately, 'how  deeply  grieved  he  must  be,  for  he  was  very 
much  attached  to  his  nephew  and  behaved  very  well  in  re- 
gard to  him !  I  have  had  proof  of  it. ' 

This  spontaneous  testimony  pleased  Marc,  who  remained 
conversing  with  the  priest  for  another  minute.  But  a  Ca- 
puchin Father  drew  near,  Father  Th£odose,  the  Superior  of 
the  little  community  attached  to  the  neighbouring  chapel. 
Superbly  built,  having  also  a  handsome  face  with  large 
ardent  eyes,  and  a  splendid  dark  beard,  which  rendered  him 
quite  majestic,  Father  The'odose  was  a  confessor  of  repute, 
and  a  preacher  of  a  mystical  turn,  whose  glowing  accents 
attracted  all  the  devout  women  of  Maillebois.  Though  he 
was  covertly  waging  war  against  Abbe"  Quandieu,  he  affected 
in  his  presence  the  deferential  manner  of  a  younger  and 
more  humbly  situated  servant  of  Providence.  He  immedi- 
ately gave  expression  to  his  emotion  and  his  grief,  for  he  had 
noticed  the  poor  child,  he  said,  at  the  chapel  on  the  previous 
evening.  So  pious  a  child  he  was,  a  little  angel  with  a 
cherub's  fair  curly  locks.  But  Marc  did  not  tarry  to  listen, 
for  the  Capuchin  inspired  him  with  unconquerable  distrust 
and  antipathy.  So  he  turned  his  steps  homeward;  but  all 
at  once  he  was  again  stopped,  this  time  by  a  friendly  tap 
on  the  shoulder. 

'What!  F£rou,  are  you  at  Maillebois?'  he  exclaimed. 
The  man  whom  he  addressed  by  the  name  of  Fe>ou  was 
schoolmaster  at  Le  Moreau,  a  lonely  hamlet,  some  two  and 
a  half  miles  from  Jonville.  The  little  place  had  not  even  a 


26  TRUTH 

priest  of  its  own,  but  was  looked  after,  from  the  religious 
standpoint,  by  the  Jonville  priest,  Abbe"  Cognasse.  F£rou 
there  led  a  life  of  black  misery  with  his  wife  and  his  child- 
ren, three  girls.  He  was  a  big  loosely-built  fellow  of  thirty, 
whose  clothes  always  seemed  too  short  for  him.  His  dark 
hair  bristled  on  his  long  and  bony  head,  he  had  a  bumpy 
nose,  a  wide  mouth,  and  a  projecting  chin,  and  knew  not 
what  to  do  with  his  big  feet  and  his  big  hands. 

'  You  know  very  well  that  my  wife's  aunt  keeps  a  grocery 
shop  here, '  he  answered.  '  We  came  over  to  see  her.  But, 
I  say,  what  an  abominable  business  this  is  about  the  poor 
little  hunchback!  Won't  it  just  enable  those  dirty  priests 
to  belabour  us  and  say  that  we  pervert  and  poison  the 
young! ' 

Marc  regarded  Fe"rou  as  a  very  intelligent,  well-read  man, 
whom  a  confined  life  full  of  privations  had  embittered  to 
the  point  of  violence  and  inspired  with  ideas  of  revenge. 
The  virulence  of  the  remark  he  had  just  made  disturbed 
Marc,  who  rejoined:  'Belabour  us?  I  don't  see  what  we 
have  to  do  with  it.' 

1  Then  you  are  a  simpleton,"  Fe"rou  retorted.  '  You  don't 
understand  that  species,  but  you  will  soon  see  the  good 
Fathers  and  the  dear  Brothers,  all  the  black  gowns,  hard 
at  work.  Have  n't  they  already  allowed  it  to  be  surmised 
that  Simon  himself  strangled  his  nephew? ' 

At  this  Marc  lost  his  temper.  Fe"rou's  hatred  of  the 
Church  led  him  too  far. 

'  You  are  out  of  your  senses,'  said  Marc.  'Nobody  sus- 
pects, nobody  for  one  moment  would  dare  to  suspect, 
Simon.  All  acknowledge  his  integrity  and  kindliness. 
Even  Abbe"  Quandieu  told  me  a  moment  ago  that  he  had 
had  proof  of  his  fatherly  treatment  of  the  poor  victim.' 

Fe"rou's  lean  and  lanky  figure  was  shaken  by  a  convulsive 
laugh,  his  hair  seemed  to  bristle  yet  higher  on  his  equine 
head.  'Ah!  it  's  too  amusing,'  he  replied.  'So  you  fancy 
they  will  restrain  themselves  when  a  dirty  Jew  is  in  ques- 
tion? Does  a  dirty  Jew  deserve  to  have  the  truth  told 
about  him?  Your  friend  Quandieu  and  all  the  others  will 
say  whatever  may  be  desirable  if  it  is  necessary  that  the 
dirty  Jew  should  be  found  guilty,  thanks  to  the  complicity 
of  us  others,  the  scamps  who  know  neither  God  nor  country, 
and  who  corrupt  the  children  of  France.  For  that  is  what 
the  priests  say  of  us — you  know  it  well !  ' 

Then  as  Marc,  chilled  to  the  heart,  continued  to  protest, 


TRUTH  27 

Fe*rou  resumed  yet  more  vehemently:  'But  you  know  what 
goes  on  at  Le  Moreux !  I  starve  there,  I  'm  treated  with  con- 
tempt, pressed  down  even  lower  than  the  wretched  road-men- 
ders. When  Abb£  Cognasse  comes  over  to  say  Mass  he  'd 
spit  on  me  if  he  met  me.  And  if  I  don't  eat  bread  every 
day  it  's  simply  because  I  refused  to  sing  in  the  choir  and 
ring  the  church  bell!  You  know  Abbe  Cognasse  yourself. 
You  have  managed  to  check  him  at  Jonville,  since  you  con- 
trived to  get  the  mayor  over  to  your  side;  but,  none  the 
less,  you  are  always  at  war;  he  would  devour  you  if  you 
only  gave  him  the  chance.  A  village  schoolmaster  indeed! 
Why,  he  's  everybody's  beast  of  burden,  everybody's 
lackey,  a  man  without  caste,  an  arrant  failure;  and  the 
peasants  distrust  him,  and  the  priests  would  like  to  burn 
him  alive  in  order  to  ensure  the  undivided  reign  of  the 
Church  Catechism  throughout  the  country! ' 

He  went  on  bitterly,  enumerating  the  sufferings  of  those 
damned  ones,  as  he  called  the  elementary  teachers.  He 
himself,  a  shepherd's  son,  successful  at  the  village  school 
which  he  had  attended,  and  afterwards  a  student  at  the 
Training  College,  which  he  had  quitted  with  excellent  cer- 
tificates, had  always  suffered  from  lack  of  means;  for  in  a 
spirit  of  rectitude  after  some  trouble  with  a  shop  girl  at 
Maillebois,  when  he  was  assistant-master  there,  he  had 
foolishly  married  her,  although  she  was  as  poor  as  himself. 
But  was  Marc  any  happier  at  Jonville,  even  though  his  wife 
received  frequent  presents  from  her  grandmother?  Was  he 
not  always  struggling  with  indebtedness,  struggling  too  with 
the  priest,  in  order  to  retain  dignity  and  independence? 
True,  he  was  seconded  by  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  the 
mistress  of  the  girls'  school,  a  woman  of  firm  sense,  with 
an  inexhaustible  heart,  who  had  helped  him  to  win  over  the 
parish  council  and  gradually  the  whole  commune.  But  cir- 
cumstances had  been  in  his  favour,  and  the  example  was 
perhaps  unique  in  the  department.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  state  of  affairs  at  Maillebois  completed  the  picture. 
There,  on  one  side,  one  found  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  won 
over  to  the  cause  of  the  priests  and  the  monks,  learning  to 
take  her  pupils  to  church,  and  fulfilling  so  well  the  office  of 
the  nuns  that  it  had  been  considered  unnecessary  to  install 
a  nuns'  school  in  the  little  town.  Then,  on  the  other  hand, 
there  was  that  poor  fellow  Simon,  an  honest  man  certainly, 
but  one  who,  from  fear  of  being  treated  as  a  dirty  Jew, 
tried  circumspection  with  everybody,  allowing  his  nephew 


28  TRUTH 

to  be  educated  by  the  dear  Brothers,  and  bowing  down  to 
the  ground  before  all  the  rooks  who  infested  the  country. 

'A  dirty  Jew! '  cried  Fe"rou  with  emphasis,  by  way  of 
conclusion.  'He  is,  and  always  will  be,  a  dirty  Jew.  And 
to  be  both  a  schoolmaster  and  a  Jew  beats  everything. 
.  .  .  Ah!  well,  you  '11  see,  you  '11  see! ' 

Then,  with  impetuous  gestures  which  shook  the  whole 
of  his  big  loose  frame  he  took  himself  off  and  mingled  with 
the  crowd. 

Marc  had  remained  on  the  kerb  of  the  footway,  shrugging 
his  shoulders  and  regarding  Fe"rou  as  a  semi-lunatic,  for  the 
picture  which  he  had  drawn  seemed  to  him  full  of  exag- 
geration. But  of  what  use  was  it  to  answer  that  poor  fellow 
whose  brain  would  soon  be  turned  by  ill  luck?  Yet  Marc 
was  haunted  by  what  he  had  heard,  and  grew  vaguely 
anxious  as  he  resumed  his  walk  towards  the  Place  des 
Capucins. 

It  was  a  quarter  past  twelve  when  he  reached  the  little 
house,  and  for  a  quarter  of  an  hour  the  ladies  had  been 
awaiting  him  in  the  dining-room,  where  the  table  was  al- 
ready laid.  This  fresh  delay  had  quite  upset  Madame 
Duparque.  She  said  nothing,  but  the  brusqueness  with 
which  she  sat  down  and  nervously  unfolded  her  napkin  de- 
noted how  culpable  she  considered  this  lack  of  punctuality. 

'I  must  apologise,'  the  young  man  explained,  'but  I  had 
to  wait  for  the  magistrates,  and  there  was  such  a  crowd  on 
the  square  afterwards  that  I  could  not  pass. ' 

At  this,  although  the  grandmother  was  resolved  on  silence, 
she  could  not  restrain  an  exclamation:  'I  hope  that  you  are 
not  going  to  busy  yourself  with  that  abominable  affair! ' 

'Oh! '  Marc  merely  answered,  'I  certainly  hope  I  sha'n't 
have  to  do  so — unless  it  be  as  a  matter  of  duty. ' 

When  Pelagic  had  served  an  omelet  and  some  slices  of 
grilled  mutton  with  mashed  potatoes,  the  young  man  re- 
lated all  that  he  had  learnt.  Genevieve  listened  to  his 
story,  quivering  with  horror  and  pity,  while  Madame  Ber- 
thereau,  who  was  also  greatly  moved,  battled  with  her  tears 
and  glanced  furtively  at  Madame  Duparque,  as  if  to  ascer- 
tain how  far  she  might  allow  her  sensibility  to  go.  But  the 
old  lady  had  relapsed  into  silent  disapproval  of  everything 
which  seemed  to  her  contrary  to  her  rule  of  life.  She  ate 
steadily,  and  it  was  only  after  a  time  that  she  remarked,  'I 
remember  very  well  that  a  child  disappeared  at  Beaumont 
during  my  youth.  It  was  found  under  the  porch  of  St. 


TRUTH  29 

Maxence.  The  body  was  cut  in  quarters,  and  there  was 
only  the  heart  missing.  It  was  said  that  the  Jews  required 
the  heart  for  the  unleavened  bread  of  their  Passover.' 

Marc  looked  at  her  in  amazement.  'You  are  not  serious, 
grandmother:  you  surely  don't  believe  such  a  stupid  and 
infamous  charge  ? ' 

She  turned  her  cold,  clear  eyes  on  him,  and,  instead  of 
giving  a  direct  answer,  she  said :  'It  is  simply  an  old  recollec- 
tion which  came  back  to  me.  ...  Of  course  I  accuse 
nobody.' 

At  this  Pdlagie,  who  had  just  brought  the  dessert,  ven- 
tured to  join  in  the  conversation  with  the  familiarity  of  an 
old  servant:  '  It  is  quite  right  of  madame  to  accuse  nobody, 
and  others  ought  to  follow  madame's  example.  The  neigh- 
bourhood has  been  in  a  state  of  revolution  since  this  morn- 
ing. You  can  have  no  idea  of  the  frightful  stories  which 
are  being  told.  Just  now,  too,  I  heard  a  workman  say 
that  the  Brothers'  school  ought  to  be  burnt  down.' 

Deep  silence  followed  those  words.  Marc,  struck  by 
them,  made  a  gesture,  then  restrained  himself,  like  one 
who  prefers  to  keep  his  thoughts  to  himself.  And  Pelagic 
continued:  'Madame  will  let  me  go  to  the  distribution  of 
prizes  this  afternoon,  I  hope  ?  I  don't  think  my  nephew 
Polydor  will  have  a  prize;  but  it  would  please  me  to  be 
present.  Those  good  Brothers!  It  won't  be  a  happy  festi- 
val for  them,  falling  on  the  very  day  when  one  of  their  best 
pupils  has  been  killed!  ' 

Madame  Duparque  nodded  assent  to  the  servant's  re- 
quest, and  the  conversation  was  then  turned  into  another 
channel.  Indeed  the  end  of  the  meal  was  brightened  some- 
what by  the  laughter  of  little  Louise,  who  gazed  in  astonish- 
ment at  the  grave  faces  of  her  father  and  her  mother,  who 
usually  smiled  so  brightly.  This  led  to  some  relaxation  of 
the  tension,  and  for  a  moment  they  all  chatted  in  a  cordial, 
intimate  way. 

The  distribution  of  prizes  at  the  Brothers'  school  that 
afternoon  roused  great  emotion.  Never  before  had  the 
ceremony  attracted  such  a  throng.  True,  the  circumstance 
that  it  was  presided  over  by  Father  Philibin,  the  prefect  of 
the  studies  at  the  College  of  Valmarie,  made  it  particularly 
notable.  The  rector  of  that  College,  Father  Crabot,  who 
was  famous  for  his  society  influence  and  the  powerful  part 
he  was  said  to  play  in  contemporary  politics,  also  attended, 
desirous  as  he  was  of  giving  the  Brothers  a  public  mark  of 


30  TRUTH 

his  esteem.  Further,  there  was  a  reactionary  deputy  of  the 
department,  Count  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf,  the  owner  of  La 
Degrade,  a  splendid  estate  of  the  environs,  which,  with  a 
few  millions,  had  formed  the  marriage  portion  of  his  wife, 
a  daughter  of  Baron  Nathan,  the  great  Jew  banker.  How- 
ever, that  which  excited  everybody,  and  which  drew  to  the 
usually  quiet  and  deserted  Place  des  Capucins  such  a  fever- 
ish crowd,  was  the  monstrous  crime  discovered  in  the  morn- 
ing, the  murder  of  one  of  the  Brothers'  pupils  under  the 
most  abominable  circumstances. 

And  it  seemed  as  if  the  murdered  boy  were  present,  as  if 
only  he  were  there,  in  the  shady  courtyard  where  the  plat- 
form was  set  up  beyond  the  serried  rows  of  chairs,  while 
Father  Philibin  spoke  in  praise  of  the  school,  of  its  director, 
the  distinguished  Brother  Fulgence,  and  of  his  three  assist- 
ants, Brothers  Isidore,  Lazarus,  and  Gorgias.  The  haunt- 
ing sensation  became  yet  more  intense  when  the  prize-list 
was  read  by  the  last-named,  a  thin,  knotty  man,  showing  a 
low,  harsh  brow  under  his  frizzy  black  hair,  a  big  nose 
projecting  like  an  eagle's  beak  between  his  prominent 
cheek-bones,  and  thin  lips  which  in  parting  revealed  wolf- 
like  teeth.  Zephirin  had  been  the  best  scholar  of  his  class, 
every  prize  of  which  he  had  won.  Thus  his  name  recurred 
incessantly,  and  Brother  Gorgias,  in  his  long  black  cassock, 
on  which  the  ends  of  his  neck-band  showed  like  a  splotch 
of  white,  let  that  name  fall  from  his  lips  in  such  slow  lugu- 
brious fashion  that  on  each  occasion  a  quiver  of  growing 
intensity  sped  through  the  assembled  throng.  Every  time 
the  poor  little  dead  boy  was  called  he  seemed  to  rise  up  to 
receive  his  crown  and  his  gilt-edged  book.  But,  alas! 
crowns  and  books  alike  formed  an  increasing  pile  on  the 
table;  and  nothing  could  be  more  poignant  than  the  silence 
and  the  void  to  which  so  many  prizes  were  cast,  the  prizes 
of  that  model  pupil  who  had  vanished  so  tragically,  and 
whose  lamentable  remains  were  lying  only  a  few  doors  away. 
At  last  the  emotion  of  the  onlookers  became  too  great  to  be 
restrained ;  sobs  burst  forth  while  Brother  Gorgias  continued 
to  call  that  name  with  a  twitching  of  the  upper-lip,  habitual 
to  him,  which  disclosed  some  of  the  teeth  on  the  left  side  of 
his  mouth  amid  an  involuntary  grimace-like  grin,  suggestive 
of  both  scorn  and  cruelty. 

The  function  ended  amid  general  uneasiness.  However 
fine  might  be  the  assembly  which  had  hastened  thither  to 
exalt  the  Brothers,  anxiety  increased,  disquietude  swept 


TRUTH  31 

over  all,  as  if  some  menace  had  come  from  afar.  But  the 
worst  was  the  departure  amid  the  murmurs  and  the  covert 
curses  of  numerous  groups  of  artisans  and  peasants  gathered 
on  the  square.  The  abominable  stories  of  which  Pelagic 
had  spoken  circulated  through  that  quivering  crowd.  A 
horrid  story  which  had  been  stifled  the  previous  year,  the 
story  of  a  Brother  whom  his  superiors  had  conjured  away 
to  save  him  from  the  Assize  Court,  was  repeated.  All  sorts 
of  rumours  had  been  current  since  that  time,  rumours  of 
abominations,  of  terrified  children  who  dared  not  speak 
out.  Naturally  there  had  been  much  enlargement  of  those 
mysterious  rumours  as  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth ; 
and  the  indignation  of  the  folk  assembled  on  the  square 
came  from  the  revival  of  them  which  was  prompted  by  the 
murder  of  one  of  the  Brothers'  pupils.  Accusations  were 
already  taking  shape,  words  of  vengeance  spread  around. 
Would  the  guilty  one  again  be  allowed  to  escape  ?  Would 
that  vile  and  bloody  den  never  be  closed  ?  Thus,  as  the 
fine  folk  departed,  and  particularly  when  the  robes  of  the 
monks  and  the  cassocks  of  the  priests  were  seen,  fists  were 
stretched  out,  and  menaces  of  death  arose:  the  whole  of  one 
group  of  onlookers  pursuing  with  hisses  Fathers  Crabot  and 
Philibin  as  they  hurried  away,  pale  and  anxious;  while 
Brother  Fulgence  ordered  the  school-gates  to  be  strongly 
bolted. 

Marc,  out  of  curiosity,  had  watched  the  scene  from  a 
window  of  Madame  Duparque's  little  house,  and,  becoming 
keenly  interested  in  it,  he  had  even  gone  for  a  moment  to 
the  threshold,  in  order  that  he  might  see  and  hear  the  bet- 
ter. How  ridiculous  had  been  Ferou's  prophecy  that  the 
Jew  would  be  saddled  with  the  crime,  that  the  rancorous 
black  gowns  would  make  a  scapegoat  of  the  secular  school- 
master! Far  from  things  taking  that  course,  it  seemed  as 
though  they  might  turn  out  very  badly  for  the  good 
Brothers.  The  rising  wrath  of  the  crowd,  those  menaces 
of  death,  indicated  that  matters  might  go  very  far  indeed, 
that  the  popular  anger  might  spread  from  the  one  guilty 
man  to  the  whole  of  his  congregation,  and  shake  the  very 
Church  itself  in  the  region,  if  indeed  the  guilty  man  were 
one  of  its  ministers.  Marc  questioned  himself  on  that  point 
but  could  form  no  absolute  conviction;  indeed,  even  sus- 
picion seemed  to  him  hazardous  and  wrong.  The  de- 
meanour of  Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence  had 
appeared  quite  natural,  full  of  perfect  tranquillity.  And 


32  TRUTH 

he  strove  to  be  very  tolerant  and  just,  for  fear  lest  he  might 
yield  to  his  impulses  as  a  freethinker  delivered  from  belief 
in  dogmas.  All  was  dark  in  that  terrible  tragedy,  and  he 
resolved  to  wait  until  he  should  learn  more. 

But  while  he  stood  there  he  saw  Pelagic  returning  in  her 
Sunday-best,  accompanied  by  her  nephew,  Polydor  Souquet, 
a  lad  of  eleven,  who  carried  a  handsomely  bound  book 
under  his  arm. 

'  It  's  the  good  conduct  prize,  monsieur!  '  exclaimed  the 
servant  proudly.  '  That  is  even  better  than  a  prize  for 
reading  or  writing,  is  it  not  ? ' 

The  truth  was  that  Polydor,  sly  but  torpid,  astonished 
even  the  Brothers  by  his  prodigious  idleness.  He  was  a 
pale,  sturdy  boy,  with  very  light  hair  and  a  long  dull  face. 
The  son  of  a  road-mender  addicted  to  drink,  he  had  lost  his 
mother  at  an  early  age,  and  lived  chancewise  nowadays  while 
his  father  broke  stones  on  the  roads.  Hating  every  kind  of 
work,  terrified  particularly  by  the  idea  of  having  to  break 
stones  in  his  turn,  he  allowed  his  aunt  to  indulge  in  the 
dream  of  seeing  him  become  a  Brother,  invariably  agreeing 
with  everything  she  said,  and  often  visiting  her  in  her 
kitchen,  in  the  hope  thereby  of  securing  some  dainty  morsel. 
Pelagic,  however,  in  spite  of  her  delight,  was  affected  by 
the  uproar  on  the  square.  She  at  last  looked  round,  quiver- 
ing, and  cast  a  glance  of  fury  and  defiance  at  the  crowd. 
'You  hear  them,  monsieur!'  she  exclaimed.  'You  hear 
those  anarchists!  The  idea  of  it!  Such  devoted  Brothers, 
who  are  so  fond  of  their  pupils,  who  look  after  them  with 
such  motherly  care!  For  instance,  there  's  Polydor.  He 
lives  with  his  father  on  the  road  to  Jonville,  nearly  a  mile 
away.  Well,  last  night,  after  that  ceremony,  for  fear  of  a 
mishap,  Brother  Gorgias  accompanied  him  to  his  very  door. 
Is  that  not  so,  Polydor  ? ' 

'Yes,'  the  boy  answered  laconically  in  his  husky  voice. 
'Yet  folk  insult  and  threaten  the  Brothers!  '  the  servant 
resumed.  '  How  wicked !  You  can  picture  poor  Brother 
Gorgias  taking  that  long  walk  in  the  dark  night,  in  order 
that  nothing  might  befall  this  little  man!  Ah!  it  's  enough 
to  disgust  one  of  being  prudent  and  kind! ' 

Marc,  who  had  been  scrutinising  the  boy,  was  struck  by 
his  resolute  taciturnity,  by  the  hypocritical  somnolence  in 
which  he  seemed  to  find  a  pleasant  refuge.  He  listened  no 
further  to  Pelagic,  to  whose  chatter  he  never  accorded  much 
attention.  But  on  returning  to  the  little  drawing-room, 


TRUTH  33 

where  he  had  left  his  wife  reading  while  Madame  Duparque 
and  Madame  Berthereau  turned  to  their  everlasting  knitting 
for  some  religious  charities,  he  felt  anxious,  for  he  per- 
ceived that  Genevieve  had  laid  her  book  aside,  and  was 
gazing  with  much  emotion  at  the  tumult  on  the  square. 
She  came  to  him,  and  with  an  affectionate  impulse,  fraught 
with  alarm,  looking  extremely  pretty  in  her  agitation,  she 
almost  threw  herself  upon  his  neck. 

'  What  is  happening  ? '  she  asked.  'Are  they  going  to 
fight  ? ' 

He  began  to  reassure  her;  and  all  at  once  Madame  Du- 
parque, raising  her  eyes  from  her  work,  sternly  gave  expres- 
sion to  her  will :  '  Marc,  I  hope  that  you  will  not  mix  yourself 
up  in  that  horrid  affair.  What  madness  it  is  to  suspect  and 
insult  the  Brothers !  God  will  end  by  avenging  His  minis- 
ters!' 


II 

MARC  was  unable  to  get  to  sleep  that  night,  for  he  was 
haunted  by  the  events  of  the  day — by  that  mon- 
strous, mysterious,  puzzling  crime.  Thus,  while 
Genevieve,  his  wife,  reposed  quietly  beside  him,  he  dwelt 
in  thought  upon  each  incident  of  the  affair,  classified  each 
detail,  striving  to  pierce  the  darkness  and  establish  the 
truth. 

Marc's  mind  was  one  that  sought  logic  and  light.  His 
clear  and  firm  judgment  demanded  in  all  things  a  basis  of 
certainty.  Thence  came  his  absolute  passion  for  truth.  In 
his  eyes  no  rest  of  mind,  no  real  happiness,  was  possible 
without  complete,  decisive  certainty.  He  was  not  very 
learned,  but  such  things  as  he  knew  he  wished  to  know 
completely,  in  order  that  he  might  have  no  doubt  of  the 
possession  of  the  truth,  experimental  truth,  established  for 
ever.  All  unrest  came  to  an  end  when  doubt  ceased;  he 
then  fully  recovered  his  spirits,  and  to  his  passion  for  the 
acquirement  of  truth  was  added  one  for  imparting  it  to 
others,  for  driving  it  into  the  brains  and  hearts  of  all.  His 
marvellous  gifts  then  became  manifest;  he  brought  with 
him  a  methodical  power  which  simplified,  classified,  illum- 
ined everything.  His  quiet  conviction  imposed  itself  on 
his  hearers,  light  was  shed  on  dim  notions,  things  seemed 
easy  and  simple.  He  instilled  life  into  the  driest  subjects. 
He  succeeded  in  imparting  a  passionate  interest  even  to 
grammar  and  arithmetic,  rendering  them  as  interesting  as 
stories  to  his  pupils.  In  him  one  really  found  the  born 
teacher. 

He  had  discovered  that  he  possessed  that  teaching  gift  at 
the  time  when,  already  possessed  of  a  bachelor's  degree,  he 
had  come  to  Beaumont  to  finish  his  apprenticeship  as  a 
lithographic  draughtsman  in  the  establishment  of  Messrs. 
Papon-Laroche.  Entrusted  with  the  execution  of  many 
school  diagrams,  he  had  exercised  his  ingenuity  in  simplify- 
ing them,  creating  perfect  masterpieces  of  clearness  and 

34 


TRUTH  35 

precision,  which  had  revealed  to  him  his  true  vocation,  the 
happiness  that  he  found  in  teaching  the  young. 

It  was  at  Papon-Laroche's  establishment  also  that  he  had 
first  met  Salvan,  now  Director  of  the  Training  College,  who, 
observing  his  bent,  had  approved  of  the  course  he  took  in 
yielding  to  it  completely,  and  becoming  what  he  was  to-day 
— a  humble  elementary  schoolmaster  who,  convinced  of  the 
noble  usefulness  of  his  duties,  was  happy  to  discharge  them 
even  in  a  small  and  lonely  village.  Marc's  affection  for 
those  whose  narrow  and  slumbering  minds  required  awaken- 
ing and  expansion  had  decided  his  career.  And,  in  the 
discharge  of  his  modest  functions,  his  passion  for  truth  in- 
creased, becoming  a  more  and  more  imperious  craving.  It 
ended  indeed  by  constituting  the  ratio  of  his  health,  his  very 
life,  for  it  was  only  by  satisfying  it  that  he  enjoyed  normal 
life.  When  it  escaped  him,  he  fell  into  anguish  of  spirit, 
consumed  by  his  desire  to  acquire  and  possess  it  wholly,  in 
order  that  he  might  communicate  it  to  others,  failing  which 
he  spent  his  days  in  intolerable  suffering,  often  physical  as 
well  as  mental. 

From  this  passion  assuredly  sprang  the  torment  which 
kept  Marc  awake  that  night  by  the  side  of  his  sleeping  wife. 
He  suffered  from  his  ignorance,  his  failure  to  penetrate  the 
truth  respecting  the  murder  of  that  child.  He  was  not  con- 
fronted merely  by  an  ignoble  crime;  he  divined  behind  it 
the  existence  of  dark  and  threatening  depths,  some  dim  but 
yawning  abyss.  Would  his  sufferings  continue  then  as  long 
as  he  should  not  know  the  truth,  which  perchance  he  might 
never  know  ?  for  the  shadows  seemed  to  increase  at  each 
effort  that  he  made  to  dissipate  them.  Mastered  by  un- 
certainty and  fear,  he  ended  by  longing  for  daybreak,  in 
order  that  he  might  resume  his  investigations.  But  his  wife 
laughed  lightly  in  her  sleep;  some  happy  dream,  no  doubt, 
had  come  to  her;  and  then  the  terrible  old  grandmother 
seemed  to  rise  up  before  the  young  man's  eyes,  and  repeat 
that  he  must  on  no  account  meddle  in  that  horrible  affair. 
At  this  the  certainty  of  a  conflict  with  his  wife's  relations 
appeared  to  him,  and  brought  his  hesitation  and  unhappi- 
ness  to  a  climax. 

Hitherto  he  had  experienced  no  serious  trouble  with  that 
devout  family  whence  he,  who  held  no  religious  belief  what- 
ever, had  taken  the  young  girl  who  had  become  his  wife, 
his  life's  companion.  He  did  not  carry  tolerance  so  far  as 
to  follow  his  wife  to  Mass,  as  Berthereau  had  done,  but  he 


36  TRUTH 

had  allowed  his  daughter  Louise  to  be  baptised,  in  order 
that  he  might  have  some  peace  with  the  ladies.  Besides,  as 
his  wife  in  her  adoration  for  him  had  ceased  to  follow  the 
religious  observances  of  her  Church  soon  after  the  marriage, 
no  quarrel  had  yet  arisen  between  them.  Occasionally  he 
remarked  in  Genevieve  some  revival  of  her  long  Catholic 
training,  ideas  of  the  absolute  which  clashed  with  his  own, 
superstitions  which  sent  a  chill  to  his  heart.  But  these 
were  merely  passing  incidents;  he  believed  that  the  love 
which  bound  him  to  his  wife  was  strong  enough  to  triumph 
over  such  divergencies;  for  did  they  not  soon  find  them- 
selves in  each  other's  arms  again,  even  when  they  had 
momentarily  felt  themselves  to  be  strangers,  belonging  to 
different  worlds  ? 

Genevieve  had  been  one  of  the  best  pupils  of  the  Sisters 
of  the  Visitation ;  she  had  quitted  their  establishment  with 
a  superior  certificate,  in  such  wise  that  her  first  idea  had 
been  to  become  a  teacher  herself.  But  there  was  no  place 
for  her  at  Jonville,  where  the  excellent  Mademoiselle  Maze- 
line  managed  the  girls'  school  without  assistance;  and, 
naturally  enough,  she  had  been  unwilling  to  quit  her  hus- 
band. Then  household  duties  had  taken  possession  of  her; 
now,  also,  she  had  to  attend  to  her  little  girl ;  and  thus  all 
thought  of  realising  her  early  desire  was  postponed,  perhaps 
for  ever.  But  did  not  this  very  circumstance  make  their  life 
all  happiness  and  perfect  agreement,  far  from  the  reach  of 
storms  ? 

If,  from  concern  for  their  future  happiness,  the  worthy 
Salvan,  Berthereau's  faithful  friend,  to  whom  the  marriage 
was  due,  had  for  a  moment  thought  of  trying  to  check  the 
irresistible  love  by  which  the  young  people  were  transported, 
he  must  have  felt  reassured  on  finding  them  still  tenderly 
united  after  three  years  of  matrimony.  It  was  only  now 
while  the  wife  dreamt  happily  in  her  slumber  that  the  hus- 
band for  the  first  time  experienced  anxiety  at  the  thought  of 
the  case  of  conscience  before  him,  foreseeing,  as  he  did, 
that  a  quarrel  might  well  arise  with  his  wife's  relations,  and 
that  all  sorts  of  unpleasant  consequences  might  ensue  in  his 
home,  should  he  yield  to  his  imperative  craving  for  truth. 

At  last,  however,  he  dozed  off  and  ended  by  sleeping 
soundly.  In  the  morning,  when  his  eyes  opened  to  the 
clear  bright  light,  he  felt  astonished  at  having  passed 
through  such  a  nightmare-like  vigil.  It  had  assuredly  been 
caused  by  the  haunting  influence  of  that  frightful  crime,  to 


TRUTH  37 

which,  as  it  happened,  Genevieve,  still  full  of  emotion  and 
pity,  was  the  first  to  refer  again. 

'  Poor  Simon  must  be  in  great  distress,'  she  said.  '  You 
cannot  abandon  him.  I  think  that  you  ought  to  see  him  this 
morning  and  place  yourself  at  his  disposal.' 

Marc  embraced  her,  delighted  to  find  her  so  kind-hearted 
and  brave.  '  But  grandmother  will  get  angry  again, '  he  re- 
plied, '  and  our  life  here  will  become  unbearable.' 

Genevieve  laughed  lightly,  and  gently  shrugged  her 
shoulders.  '  Oh !  grandmother  would  quarrel  with  the  very 
angels,'  she  retorted.  'When  one  does  half  what  she  de- 
sires, one  does  quite  enough.' 

This  sally  enlivened  them  both,  and,  Louise  having  awoke, 
they  spent  a  few  delightful  moments  in  playing  with  her  in 
her  little  cot. 

Then  Marc  resolved  to  go  out  and  resume  his  inquiry 
directly  after  breakfast.  While  he  was  dressing,  he  thought 
the  matter  over  quietly  and  sensibly.  He  was  well  ac- 
quainted with  Maillebois  and  the  characteristics  of  its  two 
thousand  inhabitants,  divided  into  petty  bourgeois,  petty 
shopkeepers,  and  workmen;  the  latter,  some  eight  hundred 
in  number,  being  distributed  through  the  workshops  of 
some  four  or  five  firms,  all  of  which  were  prosperous, 
thanks  to  the  vicinity  of  Beaumont.  Being  nearly  equally 
divided,  the  two  sections  of  the  population  fought  strenu- 
ously for  authority,  and  the  Municipal  Council  was  a  faithful 
picture  of  their  differences,  one  half  of  it  being  Clerical 
and  Reactionary,  while  the  other  was  Republican  and  Pro- 
gressive. As  yet  only  a  very  few  Socialists  figured  in  the 
population,  lost  among  all  the  folk  of  other  views,  and  they 
were  quite  without  influence.  Darras,  the  Mayor  and 
building  contractor,  was  certainly  a  declared  Republican, 
and  even  made  a  profession  of  anti-clericalism.  But,  owing 
to  the  almost  equal  strength  of  the  two  parties  in  the  coun- 
cil, it  was  only  by  a  majority  of  two  votes  that  he,  rich  and 
active,  with  about  a  hundred  workpeople  under  his  orders, 
had  been  preferred  to  Philis,  a  retired  tilt  and  awning 
maker,  with  an  income  of  from  ten  to  twelve  thousand 
francs  a  year,  who  led  the  stern  confined  life  of  a  militant 
Clerical,  interested  in  nothing  beyond  the  observance  of  the 
narrowest  piety.  Thus  Darras  was  compelled  to  observe 
extreme  prudence,  for  the  displacement  of  a  few  votes 
would  unseat  him.  Ah!  if  there  had  been  only  a  substan- 
tial Republican  majority  behind  him,  how  bravely  he  would 


38  TRUTH 

have  supported  the  cause  of  liberty,  truth,  and  justice, 
instead  of  practising,  as  he  was  reduced  to  do,  the  most 
diplomatic  'opportunism.' 

Another  thing  known  to  Marc  was  the  increasing  power 
of  the  Clerical  party,  which  seemed  likely  to  conquer  the 
whole  region.  For  ten  years  the  little  community  of  Capu- 
chins established  in  the  old  convent,  a  part  of  which  it  had 
surrendered  to  the  Brothers  of  the  Christian  Schools,  had 
carried  on  the  worship  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua  with  ever- 
increasing  audacity,  and  also  with  such  great  success  that 
the  profits  were  enormous.1  While  the  Brothers,  on  their 
side,  derived  advantage  from  this  success,  which  brought 
them  many  pupils  and  thus  increased  the  prosperity  of  the 
schools,  the  Capuchins  worked  their  chapel  as  one  may 
work  a  distillery,  and  sent  forth  from  it  every  kind  of  moral 
poison.  The  Saint  stood  on  a  golden  altar,  ever  decked 
with  flowers  and  ablaze  with  lights,  collection  boxes  ap- 
peared on  all  sides,  and  a  commercial  office  was  perman- 
ently installed  in  the  sacristy,  where  the  procession  of 
clients  lasted  from  morn  till  night.  The  Saint  did  not 
merely  find  lost  things, — his  specialty  in  the  early  days  of 
his  cultus, — he  had  extended  his  business.  For  a  few  francs 
he  undertook  to  enable  the  dullest  youths  to  pass  their 
examinations,  to  render  doubtful  business  affairs  excellent, 
to  exonerate  the  rich  scions  of  patriotic  families  from  mili- 
tary service,  to  say  nothing  of  performing  a  multitude  of 
other  equally  genuine  miracles,  such  as  healing  the  sick  and 
the  maimed,  and  according  a  positive  protection  against 
ruin  and  death,  in  the  last  respect  going  indeed  so  far  as  to 
resuscitate  a  young  girl  who  had  expired  two  days  pre- 
viously. Naturally  enough,  as  each  new  story  circulated, 
more  and  more  money  flowed  in,  and  the  business  spread 
from  the  bourgeois  and  shopkeepers  of  ReactionaryMaillebois 
to  the  workmen  of  Republican  Maillebois,  whom  the  poison 
ended  by  infecting. 

It  is  true  that,  in  his  Sunday  sermons,  Abb6  Quandieu, 
priest  of  St.  Martin's,  the  parish  church,  forcibly  pointed  out 
the  danger  of  low  superstition;  but  few  people  listened  to 
him.  Possessed  of  a  more  enlightened  faith  than  that  of 

1  The  Protestant  reader  may  be  informed  that  this  Saint  (1195-1231) 
was  a  Portuguese  Franciscan,  famous  for  the  eloquence  of  his  sermons. 
The  practices  of  which  M.  Zola  speaks  are  not  inventions.  The  so-called 
worship  of  St.  Antony  has  become  widespread  in  France  of  recent  years. 
Such  is  superstition  ! —  Trans, 


TRUTH  39 

many  priests,  he  deplored  the  harm  which  the  rapacity  of 
the  Capuchins  was  doing  to  religion.  In  the  first  place  they 
were  ruining  him;  the  parish  church  was  losing  many 
sources  of  revenue,  all  the  alms  and  offerings  now  going  to 
the  convent  chapel.  But  his  grief  came  largely  from  a 
higher  cause;  he  experienced  the  sorrow  of  an  intelligent 
priest  who  was  not  disposed  to  bow  to  Rome  in  all  things, 
but  who  still  believed  in  the  possible  evolution  amid  the 
great  modern  democratic  movement  of  an  independent  and 
liberal  Church  of  France.  Thus  he  waged  war  against  those 
'  dealers  of  the  Temple  '  who  betrayed  the  cause  of  Jesus; 
and  it  was  said  that  Monseigneur  Bergerot,1  the  Bishop  of 
Beaumont,  shared  his  views.  But  this  did  not  prevent  the 
Capuchins  from  increasing  their  triumphs,  subjugating 
Maillebois  and  transforming  it  into  a  holy  spot,  by  dint  of 
their  spurious  miracles. 

Marc  also  knew  that,  if  Monseigneur  Bergerot  was  behind 
Abbe"  Quandieu,  the  Capuchins  and  the  Brothers  possessed 
the  support  of  Father  Crabot,  the  all-powerful  Rector  of  the 
College  of  Valmarie.  If  Father  Philibin,  the  Prefect  of  the 
Studies  there,  had  presided  at  the  recent  prize-giving  at 
the  Brothers'  school,  it  had  been  by  way  of  according  to 
the  latter  a  public  mark  of  esteem  and  protection.  The 
Jesuits  had  the  affair  in  hand,  as  folk  of  evil  mind  were 
wont  to  say.  And  Simon,  the  Jew  schoolmaster,  found 
himself  caught  amid  those  inextricable  quarrels,  alone  in  a 
region  swept  by  religious  passion,  at  a  dangerous  moment, 
when  the  victory  would  be  won  by  the  most  impudent. 
Men's  hearts  were  perturbed;  a  spark  would  suffice  to  fire 
and  devastate  all  minds.  Nevertheless  the  Communal 
school  had  not  lost  a  pupil  as  yet;  its  attendances  and  suc- 
cesses equalled  those  of  the  Brothers'  school;  and  this  com- 
parative victory  was  undoubtedly  due  to  the  prudent  skill 
displayed  by  Simon,  who  behaved  cautiously  with  every- 
body, and  who  moreover  was  supported  openly  by  Darras, 
and  covertly  by  Abb£  Quandieu.  But  the  rivalry  of  the 
two  schools  would  undoubtedly  lead  to  the  real  battle,  the 
decisive  assault  which  must  come  sooner  or  later;  for  these 
two  schools  could  not  possibly  live  side  by  side,  one  must 
end  by  devouring  the  other.  And  the  Church  would  be 
unable  to  subsist  should  she  lose  the  privilege  of  teaching 
and  enslaving  the  humble. 

1  Frequently  referred  to  in  M.  Zola's  Lourdcs  and  Rome  as  a  liberal 
prelate  at  variance  with  the  Vatican. —  Trans. 


4O  TRUTH 

That  morning,  during  breakfast  with  the  ladies  in  the 
dismal  little  dining-room,  Marc,  already  oppressed  by  his 
reflections,  felt  his  discomfort  increase.  Madame  Duparque 
quietly  related  that  if  Polydor  had  secured  a  prize  the  pre- 
vious day,  he  owed  it  to  a  pious  precaution  taken  by  his 
aunt  Pelagic,  who  had  thoughtfully  given  a  franc  to  St. 
Antony  of  Padua.  On  hearing  this,  Madame  Berthereau 
nodded  as  if  approvingly,  and  even  Genevieve  did  not  ven- 
ture to  smile,  but  seemed  interested  in  the  marvellous 
stories  related  by  her  grandmother.  The  old  lady  recounted 
a  number  of  extraordinary  incidents,  how  lives  and  fortunes 
had  been  saved,  thanks  to  presents  of  two  and  three  francs 
bestowed  on  the  Saint  by  the  medium  of  the  Capuchins' 
Agency.  And  one  realised  how  —  one  little  sum  being 
added  to  another — rivers  of  gold  ended  by  flowing  to  their 
chapel,  like  so  much  tribute  levied  on  public  suffering  and 
imbecility. 

However,  that  morning's  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais, 
printed  during  the  night,  had  arrived,  and  Marc  was  well 
pleased  when,  at  the  end  of  a  long  article  on  the  crime  of 
Maillebois,  he  found  a  paragraph  containing  a  very  favour- 
able mention  of  Simon.  The  schoolmaster,  who  was 
esteemed  by  everybody,  had  received,  it  was  said,  the  most 
touching  assurances  of  sympathy  in  the  great  misfortune 
which  had  befallen  him.  This  note  had  evidently  been 
penned  by  some  correspondent  the  previous  evening,  after 
the  tumultuous  departure  from  the  distribution  of  prizes 
which  had  indicated  in  which  direction  the  wind  was  likely 
to  blow.  Indeed,  nobody  could  have  mistaken  the  public 
hostility  against  the  Brothers;  and  all  the  vague  rumours, 
all  the  horrid  stories  hushed  up  in  the  past,  aggravated  that 
hostility,  in  such  wise  that  one  was  threatened  with  some 
abominable  scandal  in  which  the  whole  Catholic  and  Re- 
actionary party  might  collapse. 

Thus  Marc  was  surprised  at  the  lively  and  even  triumph- 
ant demeanour  of  Pelagic  when  she  came  in  to  clear  the 
breakfast  table.  He  lingered  there  on  purpose  to  draw  her 
out. 

'Ah!  there  's  good  news,  monsieur,'  said  she;  'I  learnt 
something,  and  no  mistake,  when  I  went  on  my  errands  this 
morning!  I  knew  very  well  that  those  anarchists  who  in- 
sulted the  Brothers  yesterday  were  liars.' 

Then  she  recounted  all  the  tittle-tattle  of  the  shops,  all 
the  gossip  she  had  picked  up  on  the  foot-pavements  whilst 


TRUTH  41 

going  from  door  to  door.  Amid  the  oppressive  horror,  the 
disturbing  mystery  that  had  weighed  upon  the  town  for  four 
and  twenty  hours,  the  wildest  fancies  had  been  gradually 
germinating.  It  seemed  as  if  some  poisonous  vegetation 
had  sprung  up  during  the  night.  At  first  there  were  only 
the  vaguest  suppositions;  then  explanations,  suggested 
chancewise,  became  certainties,  and  doubtful  coincidences 
were  transformed  into  irrefutable  proofs.  And  a  point  to 
be  remarked  was  that  all  these  stealthy  developments, 
originating  nobody  knew  how  or  where,  but  spreading  hour 
by  hour,  and  diffusing  doubt  and  uneasiness,  turned  in 
favour  of  the  Brothers  and  against  Simon. 

'  It  is  quite  certain,  you  know,  monsieur, '  said  Pelagic, 
'  that  the  schoolmaster  cared  very  little  for  his  nephew. 
He  ill-treated  him;  he  was  seen  doing  so  by  people  who 
will  say  it.  Besides,  he  was  vexed  at  not  having  him  in  his 
school.  He  was  in  no  end  of  a  passion  when  the  lad  took 
his  first  Communion;  he  shook  his  fist  at  him  and  blas- 
phemed. .  .  .  And,  at  all  events,  it  is  very  extraordinary 
that  the  little  angel  should  have  been  killed  only  a  little 
while  after  he  had  left  the  Holy  Table,  and  when  God  was 
still  within  him.' 

A  pang  came  to  Marc's  heart;  he  listened  to  the  servant 
with  stupefaction.  '  What  do  you  mean  ? '  he  at  last  ex- 
claimed. 'Are  people  accusing  Simon  of  having  killed  his 
nephew  ? ' 

'  Well,  some  don't  scruple  to  think  it.  That  story  of 
going  to  enjoy  himself  at  Beaumont,  then  missing  the  train 
at  half-past  ten,  and  coming  back  on  foot  seems  a  strange 
one.  He  reached  home  at  twenty  minutes  to  twelve,  he 
says.  But  nobody  saw  him,  and  he  may  very  well  have 
returned  by  train  an  hour  earlier,  at  the  very  moment  when 
the  crime  was  committed.  And  when  it  was  over  he  only 
had  to  blow  out  the  candle,  and  leave  the  window  wide  open 
in  order  to  make  people  suppose  that  the  murderer  had 
come  from  outside.  At  about  a  quarter  to  eleven  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire,  the  schoolmistress,  distinctly  heard  a 
sound  of  footsteps  in  the  school,  moans  and  calls  too,  and 
the  opening  and  shutting  of  doors ' 

4  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire!'  cried  Marc.  'Why,  she  did 
not  say  a  word  of  that  in  her  first  evidence.  I  was  present! ' 

'  Excuse  me,  monsieur,  but  at  the  butcher's  just  now 
Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  was  telling  it  to  everybody,  and  I 
heard  her.' 


42  TRUTH 

The  young  man,  quite  aghast,  allowed  the  servant  to 
continue: 

'  Monsieur  Mignot,  the  assistant-master,  also  says  that  he 
was  greatly  surprised  at  the  head-master's  sound  sleep  in 
the  morning.  And,  indeed,  it  is  extraordinary  that  one 
should  have  to  go  and  awaken  a  man  on  the  day  when  a 
murder  is  committed  in  his  house.  It  seems  too  that  he 
was  n't  the  least  bit  touched;  he  merely  trembled  like  a 
leaf,  when  he  saw  the  little  body.' 

Marc  again  wished  to  protest;  but  Pelagic,  in  a  stubborn, 
malicious  way,  went  on :  '  Besides,  it  was  surely  he,  for  a 
copy-slip  which  came  from  his  class  was  found  in  the  child's 
mouth.  Only  the  master  could  have  had  that  slip  in  his 
pocket — is  that  not  so  ?  It  is  said  that  it  was  even  signed 
by  him.  At  the  greengrocer's  too  I  heard  a  lady  say  that 
the  police  officials  had  found  a  number  of  similar  slips  in 
his  cupboard.' 

This  time  Marc  retorted  by  stating  the  facts,  speaking  of 
the  illegible  initials  on  the  slip,  which  Simon  declared  had 
never  been  in  his  hands;  though,  as  it  was  of  a  pattern  in 
common  use,  one  might  have  found  it  in  any  school.  How- 
ever, when  Pelagic  declared  that  overwhelming  proofs  had 
been  discovered  that  very  morning  during  the  search  made 
by  the  officials  in  Simon's  rooms,  the  young  man  began  to 
feel  exceedingly  disturbed,  and  ceased  to  protest,  for  he 
realised  that  in  the  frightful  confusion  which  was  spreading 
through  people's  minds  all  arguments  would  be  futile. 

'  You  see,  monsieur,'  Pelagic  continued,  '  one  can  expect 
anything  when  one  has  to  deal  with  a  Jew.  As  the  milkman 
said  to  me  just  now,  those  folk  have  no  real  family  ties,  no 
real  country;  they  carry  on  dealings  with  the  devil,  they 
pillage  people,  and  kill  just  for  the  pleasure  of  doing  evil. 
And  you  may  say  what  you  like,  you  won't  prevent  people 
from  believing  that  that  Jew  needed  a  child's  life  for  some 
dirty  business  with  the  devil,  and  cunningly  waited  till  his 
nephew  had  taken  his  first  Communion  in  order  that  he 
might  pollute  and  murder  him  while  he  was  stainless  and 
full  of  perfume  from  the  presence  of  the  Host. ' 

It  was  the  charge  of  ritual  murder  reappearing,  that 
haunting  charge  transmitted  through  the  ages  and  reviving 
at  each  catastrophe,  relentlessly  pursuing  those  hateful  Jews 
who  poisoned  wells  and  butchered  little  children. 

On  two  occasions  Genevieve,  who  suffered  when  she  saw 
how  Marc  was  quivering,  had  felt  desirous  of  interrupting 


TRUTH"  43 

and  joining  in  his  protests.  But  she  had  restrained  herself 
from  fear  of  irritating  her  grandmother,  who  was  evidently 
well  pleased  with  the  servant's  gossip,  for  she  nodded 
approval  of  it.  In  fact,  Madame  Duparque  regarded  it  as 
a  victory;  and,  disdaining  to  lecture  her  son-in-law,  whom 
she  deemed  already  vanquished,  she  contented  herself  with 
saying  to  the  ever-silent  Madame  Berthereau:  'It  is  just 
like  that  dead  child  who  was  found  many  years  ago  in  the 
porch  of  St.  Maxence.  A  woman  in  the  service  of  some 
Jews  narrowly  escaped  being  sentenced  in  their  place,  for 
only  a  Jew  could  have  been  the  murderer.  When  one  fre- 
quents such  folk  one  is  always  exposed  to  the  wrath  of 
God.' 

Marc  preferred  to  make  no  rejoinder;  and  almost  imme- 
diately afterwards  he  went  out.  But  his  perturbation  was 
extreme,  and  a  doubt  came  to  him.  Could  Simon  really  be 
guilty  ?  The  suspicion  attacked  him  like  some  evil  fever 
contracted  in  a  pernicious  spot;  and  he  felt  a  need  of  re- 
flecting and  recovering  his  equilibrium  before  he  called 
upon  his  colleague.  So  he  went  off  along  the  deserted 
road  to  Valmarie,  picturing,  as  he  walked,  all  the  incidents 
of  the  previous  day,  and  weighing  men  and  things.  No, 
no!  Simon  could  not  be  reasonably  suspected.  Certainties 
presented  themselves  on  all  sides.  First  of  all,  such  a  hor- 
rible crime  on  his  part  was  utterly  illogical,  impossible. 
He  was  assuredly  healthy  in  body  and  mind,  he  had  no 
physiological  flaws,  his  gentle  gaiety  denoted  the  regularity 
of  his  life.  And  he  had  a  wife  of  resplendent  beauty  whom 
he  adored,  beside  whom  he  lived  in  loving  ecstasy,  grateful 
to  her  for  the  handsome  children  who  had  sprung  from 
their  affection  and  had  become  their  living  love  and  wor- 
ship. How  was  it  possible  to  imagine  that  such  a  man 
had  yielded  to  a  fit  of  abominable  madness  a  few  moments 
before  rejoining  his  well-loved  spouse  and  his  little  children 
slumbering  in  their  cots  ?  Again,  how  simple  and  truthful 
on  the  previous  day  had  been  the  accents  of  that  man  who 
was  exposed  to  the  scrutiny  of  so  many  enemies,  who  loved 
his  calling  to  the  point  of  heroism,  who  made  the  best  of  his 
poverty  without  ever  uttering  a  word  of  complaint! 

The  account  he  had  given  of  his  evening  had  been  very 
clear,  his  wife  had  confirmed  his  statements  respecting  the 
time  of  his  return,  none  of  the  information  that  he  had  fur- 
nished seemed  open  to  doubt.  And  if  some  obscure  points 
remained,  if  that  crumpled  copy-slip  found  with  a  number 


44  TRUTH 

of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  constituted  an  enigma  as  yet  un- 
ravelled, reason  at  least  indicated  that  the  culprit  must  be 
sought  elsewhere;  for  Simon's  nature  and  life,  the  very 
conditions  in  which  he  lived,  showed  that  he  could  have 
had  nothing  to  do  with  the  crime.  On  that  point  Marc 
experienced  a  feeling  of  certainty,  based  on  reason,  on  truth 
itself,  which  remains  unshakable  when  once  it  is  established 
by  observation  and  the  deductions  that  facts  supply. 

Thus  the  young  man's  conviction  was  formed;  there  were 
certain  ascertained  facts  to  which  he  would  bring  every- 
thing else  back,  and,  although  every  error  and  falsehood 
might  be  launched,  he  would  brush  all  assertions  aside  if 
they  did  not  agree  with  such  truths  as  were  already  known 
and  demonstrated. 

Serene  once  more,  relieved  of  the  burden  of  his  doubts, 
Marc  returned  to  Maillebois,  passing  the  railway  station  at 
the  moment  when  some  passengers  were  alighting  from  a 
train  which  had  just  arrived.  Among  those  who  emerged 
from  the  station  he  perceived  the  Elementary  Education 
Inspector  of  the  arrondissement,  handsome  Mauraisin,  as  he 
was  called,  a  very  dark,  foppish  little  man  of  thirty-eight, 
whose  thin  lips  and  whose  chin  were  hidden  by  a  carefully 
kept  moustache  and  beard,  while  glasses  screened  his  eager 
eyes.  Formerly  a  professor  at  the  Beaumont  Training 
College,  Mauraisin  belonged  to  that  new  generation,  the 
Arrivistes,  who  are  ever  on  the  lookout  for  advancement, 
and  who  always  place  themselves  on  the  stronger  side. 
He,  it  was  said,  had  coveted  the  directorship  of  the  Train- 
ing College,  which  had  fallen  to  Salvan,  whom  he  pursued 
with  covert  hatred,  but  very  prudently,  for  he  was  aware  of 
Salvan's  great  credit  with  Le  Barazer,  the  Academy  Inspec- 
tor,1 on  whom  he  himself  depended.  Besides,  in  presence 
of  the  equality  of  the  forces  which  were  contending  for 
supremacy  in  his  arrondissement,  Mauraisin,  in  spite  of  his 

1  In  matters  of  education  the  French  territory  is  apportioned  among 
a  number  of  'Academies,'  such  as  those  of  Paris,  Caen,  Rennes,  Bor- 
deaux, Dijon,  &c.,  which  are  each  governed  by  Rectors,  and  which, 
combined,  constitute  the  University  of  France,  of  which  the  Minister 
of  Public  Instruction  for  the  time  being  is  the  grand-master.  The 
Rectors  communicate  with  him  ;  under  them,  in  each  territorial  depart- 
ment within  their  jurisdiction,  they  have  an  '  Inspecteur  d'Academie,' 
who  is  provided  with  a  general  secretary,  and  who  in  turn  has  under  him 
several  subordinate  inspectors  called  '  Inspecteurs  de  1'Instruction 
primaire.'  There  is  one  of  these  for  each  arrondissement  into  which 
the  departments  are  divided. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  45 

personal  preferences  for  the  clericals,  the  priests,  and 
monks,  whom  he  regarded  as  '  devilish  clever, '  had  been 
skilful  enough  to  refrain  from  declaring  himself  too  openly. 
Thus,  when  Marc  perceived  the  Elementary  Inspector,  it 
was  allowable  for  him  to  fancy  that  Le  Barazer,  with  whose 
good  nature  he  was  acquainted,  had  despatched  his  sub- 
ordinate to  the  assistance  of  Simon  in  the  terrible  catas- 
trophe which  threatened  to  sweep  the  schoolmaster  of 
Maillebois  and  his  school  away. 

The  young  man  therefore  hastened  his  steps,  desirous  of 
paying  his  respects  to  the  Inspector,  but  all  at  once  an  un- 
expected incident  restrained  him.  A  cassock  had  emerged 
from  a  neighbouring  street,  and  he  recognised  in  its  wearer 
Father  Crabot,  the  Rector  of  the  Jesuit  College  of  Valmarie. 
A  tall,  finely-built  man,  without  a  white  hair  at  five  and 
forty,  Father  Crabot  had  a  broad  and  regular  face,  with  a 
somewhat  large  nose,  amiable  eyes,  and  thick,  caressing  lips. 
The  only  failing  with  which  he  was  reproached  was  a  tend- 
ency to  become  a  fashionable  cleric  as  a  result  of  the  many 
aristocratic  connections  which  he  was  always  eager  to  form. 
But  those  connections  simply  increased  the  sphere  of  his 
power,  and  some  people  said,  with  good  reason,  that  he  was 
the  secret  master  of  the  department,  and  that  the  victory  of 
the  Church,  which  was  assuredly  approaching,  depended 
solely  on  him. 

Marc  felt  surprised  and  disquieted  on  seeing  the  Jesuit  at 
Maillebois  at  that  hour.  Had  he  quitted  Valmarie  very 
early  in  the  morning  then?  What  urgent  business,  what 
pressing  visits  had  brought  him  there  ?  Whence  had  he 
come,  whither  was  he  going,  distributing  bows  and  smiles  as 
he  passed  through  the  streets  full  of  the  fever  born  by 
rumour  and  tittle-tattle  ?  And  all  at  once  Marc  saw  Father 
Crabot  stop  at  the  sight  of  Mauraisin  and  offer  the  latter 
his  hand  with  charming  cordiality.  Their  conversation  was 
not  a  long  one;  it  consisted,  no  doubt,  of  the  usual  com- 
monplaces, but  they  seemed  to  be  on  excellent  terms,  as  if 
indeed  they  discreetly  understood  each  other.  When  the 
Elementary  Inspector  quitted  the  Jesuit,  he  drew  his  little 
figure  erect,  evidently  feeling  very  proud  of  that  hand- 
shake, which  had  inspired  him  with  an  opinion,  a  resolu- 
tion,  which  perhaps  he  had  hitherto  hesitated  to  form.  But 
Father  Crabot,  going  his  way,  also  caught  sight  of  Marc, 
and  recognising  him,  from  having  seen  him  at  Madame  Du- 
parque's,  where  he  occasionally  condescended  to  call,  made 


46  TRUTH 

a  great  show  of  doffing  his  hat  by  way  of  salutation.  The 
young  man,  who  stood  on  the  kerb  of  the  footway,  was 
compelled  to  respond  by  a  similar  act  of  politeness,  and 
then  watched  the  Jesuit  as  the  latter,  filling  the  streets  with 
the  sweep  of  his  cassock,  betook  himself  through  Maillebois, 
which  felt  very  honoured,  flattered,  and  subjugated  by  his 
presence. 

Marc,  for  his  part,  slowly  resumed  his  walk  towards  the 
school.  The  current  of  his  thoughts  had  changed,  he  was 
growing  gloomy  again,  as  if  he  were  returning  to  some  con- 
taminated spot  where  slow  poison  had  diffused  hostility. 
The  houses  did  not  seem  to  be  the  same  as  on  the  previous 
day;  and,  in  particular,  the  faces  of  the  people  appeared  to 
have  changed.  Thus,  when  he  reached  Simon's  rooms,  he 
was  quite  surprised  to  find  his  friend  quietly  sorting  some 
papers  in  the  midst  of  his  family.  Rachel  was  seated  near 
the  window,  the  two  children  were  playing  in  a  corner,  and 
if  it  had  not  been  for  the  sadness  of  the  parents  one  would 
have  thought  that  nothing  unusual  had  occurred  in  the 
house. 

Simon,  however,  stepped  forward  and  pressed  Marc's 
hands  with  keen  emotion,  like  one  who  felt  how  friendly 
and  bravely  sympathetic  was  the  visit.  The  perquisition 
early  that  morning  was  at  once  spoken  of. 

'  Have  the  police  been  here  ? '  Marc  inquired. 

'Yes,  it  was  quite  natural  they  should  come:  I  expected 
it.  Of  course  they  found  nothing,  and  went  off  with  empty 
hands. ' 

Marc  restrained  a  gesture  of  astonishment.  What  had 
Pelagic  told  him  ?  Why  had  people  spread  rumours  of 
crushing  proofs,  of  the  discovery  among  other  things  of 
copy-slips  identical  with  the  one  found  in  the  room  of  the 
crime  ?  Were  lies  being  told  then  ? 

'And  you  see,'  Simon  continued,  '  I  am  setting  my  papers 
in  order,  for  they  mixed  them  up.  What  a  frightful  affair, 
my  friend!  We  no  longer  know  if  we  exist.' 

Then  he  mentioned  that  the  post-mortem  examination  of 
Z6phirin's  remains  was  to  take  place  that  very  day.  In- 
deed, they  were  then  expecting  the  medical  officer  of  the 
Public  Prosecution  service.  But  doubtless  it  would  only 
be  possible  to  bury  the  body  on  the  morrow. 

'  For  my  part,'  Simon  added,  'as  you  will  well  understand, 
I  seem  to  be  living  in  a  nightmare.  I  ask  myself  if  such  a 
catastrophe  is  possible.  I  have  been  thinking  of  nothing 


TRUTH  47 

else  since  yesterday  morning;  I  am  always  beginning  the 
same  story  afresh,  my  return  on  foot,  so  late  but  in  great 
quietude,  my  arrival  at  the  house  which  was  fast  asleep,  and 
then  that  frightful  awakening  in  the  morning.' 

These  remarks  gave  Marc  an  opportunity  to  ask  a  few  ques- 
tions. '  Did  you  meet  nobody  on  the  road  ? '  he  inquired. 
'  Did  nobody  see  you  arrive  here  at  the  hour  you  named  ? ' 

'Why,  no!  I  met  nobody,  and  I  think  nobody  saw  me 
come  in.  At  that  late  hour  nobody  is  about  in  Maillebois. ' 

Silence  fell.  Then  Marc  resumed:  'But  as  you  did  not 
take  the  train  back  you  did  not  use  your  return  ticket. 
Have  you  still  got  it  ? ' 

'My  return  ticket?  No!  I  was  so  furious  when  I  saw 
the  half-past  ten  o'clock  train  going  off  without  me,  that  I 
threw  the  ticket  away,  in  the  station  yard,  directly  I  decided 
to  return  on  foot.' 

Silence  fell  again,  and  Simon  gazed  fixedly  at  his  friend, 
saying:  '  Why  do  you  put  these  questions  to  me  ? ' 

Marc  affectionately  grasped  his  hands  once  more,  and 
retained  them  for  a  moment  in  his  own,  whilst  resolving  to 
warn  him  of  impending  danger,  indeed  to  tell  him  every- 
thing. '  I  regret, '  he  said,  '  that  nobody  saw  you,  and  I 
regret  still  more  that  you  did  not  keep  your  return  ticket. 
There  are  so  many  fools  and  malicious  folks  about!  It  is 
being  reported  that  this  morning  the  police  found  over- 
whelming proofs  here,  copies  of  the  writing-slip,  initialled 
in  the  same  way  as  the  one  which  formed  part  of  the  gag. 
Mignot,  it  seems,  is  astonished  that  he  should  have  found 
you  so  sound  asleep  yesterday  morning;  and  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  now  remembers  that  about  a  quarter  to  eleven 
o'clock  on  the  night  of  the  crime,  she  heard  voices  and 
footsteps,  as  if  somebody  were  entering  the  house.' 

Very  pale  but  very  calm,  Simon  smiled  and  shrugged  his 
shoulders:  '  Ah!  that  's  it,  is  it  ?  They  are  suspecting  me. 
Well,  I  now  understand  the  expressions  I  have  seen  on  the 
faces  of  the  folk  who  have  been  passing  the  school  since 
early  this  morning!  Mignot,  who  is  a  good  fellow  at  heart, 
will  of  course  say  as  everybody  else  says,  for  fear  of  com- 
promising himself  with  a  Jew  like  me.  As  for  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire,  she  will  sacrifice  me  ten  times  over,  if  her  confes- 
sor has  suggested  it  to  her,  and  if  she  finds  a  chance  of  ad- 
vancement or  merely  additional  consideration  in  such  a  fine 
deed.  Ah!  they  are  suspecting  me,  are  they?  and  the 
whole  pack  of  clerical  hounds  has  been  let  loose! ' 


48  TRUTH 

He  almost  laughed  as  he  spoke.  But  Rachel,  whose 
customary  indolence  seemed  to  have  been  increased  by  her 
deep  grief,  had  now  suddenly  risen,  her  beautiful  counten- 
ance all  aglow  with  dolorous  revolt. 

'  You,  you !  They  suspect  you  of  such  ignominy ! '  she 
exclaimed ;  '  you  who  were  so  kind  and  gentle  when  you  came 
home,  and  clasped  me  in  your  arms,  and  spoke  such  loving 
words  to  me!  They  must  be  mad!  Is  it  not  sufficient  that 
I  should  speak  the  truth,  tell  of  your  return,  and  of  the 
night  we  spent  together  ?  ' 

Then  she  flung  herself  upon  his  neck,  weeping  and  re- 
lapsing into  the  weakness  of  an  adored  and  caressed  woman. 
Pressing  her  to  his  heart  her  husband  strove  to  reassure  and 
calm  her. 

'  Don't  be  distressed,  my  darling!  Those  stories  are 
idiotic,  they  stand  on  nothing.  I  am  quite  at  ease;  the 
authorities  may  turn  everything  here  upside  down;  they 
may  search  all  my  past  life,  they  will  find  no  guilt  in  it.  I 
have  only  to  speak  the  truth,  and,  do  you  know,  nothing 
can  stand  against  the  truth;  it  is  the  great,  the  eternal 
victor. ' 

Then,  turning  to  his  friend,  he  added:  '  Is  it  not  so,  my 
good  Marc  ?  is  one  not  invincible  when  one  has  truth  on 
one's  side  ? ' 

If  Marc  had  not  been  convinced  already  of  Simon's 
innocence  his  last  doubts  would  have  fled  amid  the 
emotion  of  that  scene.  Yielding  to  an  impulse  of  his  heart 
he  embraced  both  husband  and  wife,  as  if  giving  himself  to 
them  entirely,  in  order  to  help  them  in  the  grave  crisis 
which  he  foresaw.  Desirous  as  he  was  of  taking  immediate 
action,  he  again  spoke  of  the  copy-slip,  for  he  felt  that  it 
was  the  one  important  piece  of  evidence  on  which  the 
elucidation  of  the  whole  affair  must  be  reared.  But  how 
puzzling  was  that  crumpled,  bitten  slip  of  paper,  soiled  by 
saliva,  with  its  initialling  or  its  blot  half  effaced,  and  with 
one  of  its  corners  carried  away,  no  doubt,  by  the  victim's 
teeth !  The  very  words  '  Love  one  another, '  lithographed 
in  a  fine  English  round-hand,  seemed  fraught  with  a  terrible 
irony.  Whence  had  that  slip  come  ?  Who  had  brought  it 
to  that  room — the  boy  or  his  murderer?  And  how  could 
one  ascertain  the  truth  when  the  Mesdames  Milhomme,  the 
neighbouring  stationers,  sold  such  slips  almost  daily? 

Simon,  for  his  part,  could  only  repeat  that  he  had  never 
had  that  particular  one  in  his  school.  'All  my  boys  would 


TRUTH  49 

say  so.  That  copy  never  entered  the  school,  never  passed 
under  their  eyes.' 

Marc  regarded  this  as  valuable  information.  'Then  they 
could  testify  to  that  effect!  '  he  exclaimed.  'As  it  is  being 
falsely  rumoured  that  the  police  found  similar  copies  in  your 
rooms,  one  must  re-establish  the  truth  immediately, — call  on 
your  pupils  at  their  homes,  and  demand  their  evidence  be- 
fore anybody  tries  to  tamper  with  their  memory.  Give  me 
the  names  of  a  few  of  them ;  I  will  take  the  matter  in  hand, 
and  carry  it  through  this  afternoon.' 

Simon,  strong  in  the  consciousness  of  his  innocence,  at 
first  refused  to  do  so.  But  eventually,  among  his  pupils' 
parents,  he  named  Bongard,  a  farmer  on  the  road  to  La 
Desirade,  Masson  Doloir,  a  workman  living  in  the  Rue 
Plaisir,  and  Savin,  a  clerk  in  the  Rue  Fauche.  Those  three 
would  suffice  unless  Marc  should  also  like  to  call  on  the 
Mesdames  Milhomme.  Thus  everything  was  settled,  and 
Marc  went  off  to  lunch,  promising  that  he  would  return  in  the 
evening  to  acquaint  Simon  with  the  result  of  his  inquiries. 

Once  outside  on  the  square,  however,  he  again  caught 
sight  of  handsome  Mauraisin.  This  time  the  Elementary 
Inspector  was  deep  in  conference  with  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire.  He  was  usually  most  punctilious  and  prudent  with 
the  schoolmistresses,  in  consequence  of  his  narrow  escape 
from  trouble,  a  few  years  previously,  in  connection  with  a 
young  assistant-teacher  who  had  shrieked  like  a  little  booby 
when  he  had  simply  wished  to  kiss  her.  Malicious  people 
said  that  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  did  not  shriek,  although 
she  was  so  ugly,  and  that  this  explained  both  the  favourable 
reports  she  secured  and  her  prospects  of  rapid  advancement. 

Standing  at  the  gate  of  her  little  garden,  she  was  now 
speaking  to  Mauraisin  with  great  volubility,  making  sweep- 
ing gestures  in  the  direction  of  the  boys'  school;  while  the 
Inspector,  wagging  his  head,  listened  to  her  attentively. 
At  last  they  entered  the  garden  together,  gently  closing  the 
gate  behind  them.  It  was  evident  to  Marc  that  the  woman 
was  telling  Mauraisin  about  the  crime  and  the  sounds  of 
footsteps  and  voices  which  she  now  declared  she  had  heard. 
At  the  thought  of  this  the  quiver  of  the  early  morning 
returned  to  Marc;  he  again  experienced  discomfort — a  dis- 
comfort arising  from  his  hostile  surroundings,  from  the 
dark,  stealthy  plot  which  was  brewing,  gathering  like  a 
storm,  rendering  the  atmosphere  more  and  more  oppressive. 
Singular  indeed  was  the  fashion  in  which  that  Elementary 


5O  TRUTH 

Inspector  went  to  the  help  of  a  threatened  master:  he  began 
by  taking  the  opinions  of  all  the  surrounding  folk  whom 
jealousy  or  hatred  inspired! 

At  two  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  Marc  found  himself  on 
the  road  to  La  D^sirade,  just  outside  Maillebois.  Bongard, 
whose  name  had  been  given  him  by  Simon,  there  owned  a 
little  farm  of  a  few  fields,  which  he  cultivated  himself  with 
difficulty,  securing,  as  he  put  it,  no  more  than  was  needed 
to  provide  daily  bread.  Marc  luckily  met  him  just  as  he 
had  returned  home  with  a  cartload  of  hay.  He  was  a 
strong,  square-shouldered,  and  stoutish  man,  with  round 
eyes  and  placid  silent  face,  beardless  but  seldom  fresh 
shaven.  On  her  side  La  Bongard,  a  long  bony  blonde, 
who  was  also  present,  preparing  some  mash  for  her  cow, 
showed  an  extremely  plain  countenance,  outrageously 
freckled,  with  a  patch  of  colour  on  each  cheek-bone,  and  an 
expression  of  close  reserve.  Both  looked  suspiciously  at 
the  strange  gentleman  whom  they  saw  entering  their  yard. 

'I  am  the  Jonville  schoolmaster,'  said  Marc.  '  You  have 
a  little  boy  who  attends  the  Communal  school  at  Maillebois, 
have  you  not  ? ' 

At  that  moment  Fernand,  the  boy  in  question,  who  had 
been  playing  on  the  road,  ran  up.  He  was  a  sturdy  lad  of 
nine  years,  fashioned,  one  might  have  thought,  with  a  bill- 
hook, and  showing  a  low  brow  and  a  dull,  heavy  counten- 
ance. He  was  followed  by  his  sister  Angele,  a  lass  of  seven, 
with  a  similarly  massive  but  more  knowing  face,  for  in  her 
quick  eyes  one  espied  some  dawning  intelligence  which  was 
striving  to  escape  from  its  fleshy  prison.  She  had  heard 
Marc's  question,  and  she  cried  in  a  shrill  voice:  '  I  go  to 
Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's,  I  do;  Fernand  goes  to  Monsieur 
Simon's.' 

Bongard  had  sent  his  children  to  the  Communal  schools, 
first  because  the  teaching  cost  him  nothing,  and  secondly 
because,  as  a  matter  of  mere  instinct, — for  he  had  never 
reasoned  the  question, — he  was  not  on  the  side  of  the 
priests.  He  practised  no  religion,  and  if  La  Bongard  went 
to  church  it  was  simply  from  habit  and  by  way  of  diversion. 
All  that  the  husband,  who  was  scarce  able  to  read  or  write, 
appreciated  in  his  wife,  who  was  still  more  ignorant  than 
himself,  was  her  powers  of  endurance,  which,  similar  to 
those  of  a  beast  of  burden,  enabled  her  to  toil  from  morn 
till  night  without  complaining.  And  the  farmer  showed 
little  or  no  anxiety  whether  his  children  made  progress  at 


TRUTH  51 

school.  As  a  matter  of  fact  little  Fernand  was  industrious 
and  took  no  end  of  pains,  but  could  get  nothing  into  his 
head;  whereas  little  Angele,  who  proved  yet  more  pains- 
taking and  stubborn,  at  last  seemed  likely  to  become  a 
passable  pupil.  She  was  like  so  much  human  matter  in  the 
rough,  lately  fashioned  of  clay,  and  awaking  to  intelligence 
by  a  slow  and  dolorous  effort. 

'I  am  Monsieur  Simon's  friend,"  Marc  resumed,  'and  I 
have  come  on  his  behalf  about  what  has  happened.  You 
have  heard  of  the  crime,  have  you  not  ? ' 

Most  certainly  they  had  heard  of  it.  Their  anxious  faces 
suddenly  became  impenetrable,  in  such  wise  that  one  could 
read  on  them  neither  feeling  nor  thought.  Why  had  that 
stranger  come  to  question  them  in  this  fashion  ?  Their 
ideas  about  things  concerned  nobody.  Besides,  it  was 
necessary  to  be  prudent  in  matters  in  which  a  word  too 
much  often  suffices  to  bring  about  a  man's  sentence. 

'And  so,'  Marc  continued,  '  I  should  like  to  know  if  your 
little  boy  ever  saw  in  his  class  a  copy-slip  like  this.' 

Marc  himself  on  a  slip  of  paper  had  written  the  words 
'Aimez  vous  les  uns  les  autres '  in  a  fine  round-hand  of  the 
proper  size.  Having  explained  matters,  he  showed  the 
paper  to  Fernand,  who  looked  at  it  in  a  dazed  fashion,  for 
his  mind  worked  slowly  and  he  did  not  yet  understand  what 
was  asked  him. 

'  Look  well  at  it,  my  little  friend, '  said  Marc ;  '  did  you 
ever  see  such  a  copy  at  the  school  ? ' 

But  before  the  lad  had  made  up  his  mind,  Bongard,  in 
his  circumspect  manner,  intervened:  'The  child  doesn't 
know,  how  can  he  know  ? ' 

And  La  Bongard,  like  her  husband's  shadow,  added: 
'  Why  of  course  a  child,  it  can  never  know.' 

Without  listening  to  them,  however,  Marc  insisted,  and 
placed  the  copy  in  the  hands  of  Fernand,  who,  fearing  that 
he  might  be  punished,  made  an  effort,  and  at  last  responded: 
'  No,  monsieur,  I  never  saw  it.' 

As  he  spoke  he  raised  his  head,  and  his  eyes  met  his 
father's,  which  were  fixed  on  him  so  sternly  that  he  hast- 
ened to  add,  stammering  as  he  did  so:  'Unless  all  the  same 
I  did  see  it;  I  don't  know.' 

That  was  all  that  could  be  got  out  of  him.  When  Marc 
pressed  him,  his  answers  became  incoherent,  while  his 
parents  themselves  said  yes  or  no  chancewise,  according  to 
what  they  deemed  to  be  their  interest.  It  was  Bongard's 


52  TRUTH 

prudent  habit  to  jog  his  head  in  approval  of  every  opinion 
expressed  by  those  who  spoke  to  him,  for  fear  of  com- 
promising himself.  Yes,  yes,  it  was  a  frightful  crime,  and 
if  the  culprit  should  be  caught  it  would  be  quite  right  to 
cut  off  his  head.  Each  man  to  his  trade,  the  gendarmes 
knew  theirs,  there  were  rascals  everywhere.  As  for  the 
priests,  there  was  some  good  in  them,  but  all  the  same  one 
had  a  right  to  follow  one's  own  ideas.  And  at  last,  as  Marc 
could  learn  nothing  positive,  he  had  to  take  himself  off, 
watched  inquisitively  by  the  children,  and  pursued  by  the 
shrill  voice  of  little  Angele,  who  began  chattering  with  her 
brother  as  soon  as  the  gentleman  could  no  longer  detect 
what  she  said. 

The  young  man  gave  way  to  some  sad  reflections  as  he 
returned  to  Maillebois.  He  had  just  come  in  contact  with 
the  thick  layer  of  human  ignorance,  the  huge  blind,  deaf 
multitude  still  enwrapped  in  the  slumber  of  the  earth.  Be- 
hind the  Bongards  the  whole  mass  of  country  folk  remained 
stubbornly,  dimly  vegetating,  ever  slow  to  awaken  to  a 
true  perception  of  things.  There  was  a  whole  nation  to  be 
educated  if  one  desired  that  it  should  be  born  to  truth  and 
justice.  But  how  colossal  would  be  the  labour!  How 
could  it  be  raised  from  the  clay  in  which  it  lingered,  how 
many  generations  perhaps  would  be  needed  to  free  the  race 
from  darkness!  Even  at  the  present  time  the  vast  majority 
of  the  social  body  remained  in  infancy,  in  primitive  imbecil- 
ity. In  the  case  of  Bongard  one  descended  to  mere  brute 
matter,  which  was  incapable  of  being  just  because  it  knew 
nothing  and  would  learn  nothing. 

Marc  turned  to  the  left,  and  after  crossing  the  High 
Street  found  himself  in  the  poor  quarter  of  Maillebois. 
Various  industrial  establishments  there  polluted  the  waters 
of  the  Verpille,  and  the  sordid  houses  of  the  narrow  streets 
were  the  homes  of  many  workpeople.  Doloir  the  mason 
tenanted  four  fairly  large  rooms  on  a  first  floor  over  a  wine- 
shop in  the  Rue  Plaisir.  Marc,  imperfectly  informed 
respecting  the  address,  was  seeking  it  when  he  came  upon  a 
party  of  masons  who  had  just  quitted  their  work  to  drink  a 
glass  together  at  the  bar  of  the  wineshop.  They  were  dis- 
cussing the  crime  in  violent  language. 

'A  Jew  's  capable  of  anything,'  one  big  fair  fellow  ex- 
claimed. '  There  was  one  in  my  regiment  who  was  a  thief, 
but  that  did  not  prevent  him  from  being  a  corporal,  for  a 
Jew  always  gets  out  of  difficulties.' 


TRUTH  53 

Another  mason,  short  and  dark,  shrugged  his  shoulders. 
'  I  quite  agree,'  said  he,  '  that  the  Jews  are  not  worth  much, 
but  all  the  same  the  priests  are  no  better.' 

'Oh!  as  for  the  priests,'  the  other  retorted,  'some  are 
good,  some  are  bad.  At  all  events  the  priests  are  French- 
men, whereas  those  dirty  beasts,  the  Jews,  have  sold  France 
to  the  foreigners  twice  already.'  Then,  as  his  comrade, 
somewhat  shaken  in  his  views,  asked  him  if  he  had  read 
that  in  Le  Petit  JBeaumontais,  '  No,  I  did  n't,'  he  added; 
'  those  newspapers  give  me  too  much  of  a  headache.  But 
some  of  my  mates  told  me,  and,  besides,  everybody  knows 
it  well.' 

The  others,  thereupon  feeling  convinced,  became  silent, 
and  slowly  drained  their  glasses.  They  were  just  quitting 
the  wineshop  when  Marc,  approaching,  asked  the  tall  fair 
one  if  he  knew  where  Doloir  the  mason  lived.  The  work- 
man laughed.  'Doloir,  monsieur?  that  's  me,'  he  said; 
'  I  live  here ;  those  are  my  three  windows. ' 

The  adventure  quite  enlivened  this  tall  sturdy  fellow  of 
somewhat  military  bearing.  As  he  laughed  his  big  mous- 
taches rose,  disclosing  his  teeth,  which  looked  very  white  in 
his  highly  coloured  face,  with  large,  good-  natured  blue 
eyes. 

'  You  could  not  have  asked  anybody  more  likely  to  know, 
could  you,  monsieur  ? '  he  continued.  '  What  do  you  wish 
of  me  ? ' 

Marc  looked  at  him  with  a  feeling  of  some  sympathy  in 
spite  of  the  hateful  words  he  had  heard.  Doloir,  who  had 
been  for  several  years  in  the  employment  of  Darras,  the 
Mayor  and  building  contractor,  was  a  fairly  good  workman 
— one  who  occasionally  drank  a  drop  too  much,  but  who 
took  his  pay  home  to  his  wife  regularly.  He  certainly 
growled  about  the  employers,  referred  to  them  as  a  dirty 
gang,  and  called  himself  a  socialist,  though  he  had  only  a 
vague  idea  what  socialism  might  be.  At  the  same  time  he 
had  some  esteem  for  Darras,  who,  while  making  a  great 
deal  of  money,  tried  to  remain  a  comrade  with  his  men. 
But  above  everything  else  three  years  of  barrack-life  had 
left  an  ineffaceable  mark  on  Doloir.  He  had  quitted  the 
army  in  a  transport  of  delight  at  his  deliverance,  freely 
cursing  the  disgusting  and  hateful  calling  in  which  one 
ceased  to  be  a  man.  But  ever  since  that  time  he  had  been 
continually  living  his  three  years'  service  afresh;  not  a  day 
passed  but  some  recollection  of  it  came  to  him.  With  his 


54  TRUTH 

hand  spoilt  as  it  were  by  the  rifle  he  had  carried,  he  had 
found  his  trowel  heavy,  and  had  returned  to  work  in  a 
spiritless  fashion,  like  one  who  was  no  longer  accustomed  to 
toil,  but  whose  will  was  broken  and  whose  body  had  become 
used  to  long  spells  of  idleness,  such  as  those  which  inter- 
vened between  the  hours  of  military  exercise.  To  become 
once  more  the  excellent  workman  that  he  had  been  pre- 
viously was  impossible.  Besides,  he  was  haunted  by  mili- 
tary matters,  to  which  he  was  always  referring  apropos  of 
any  subject  that  presented  itself.  But  he  chattered  in  a 
confused  way,  he  had  no  information,  he  read  nothing,  he 
knew  nothing,  being  simply  firm  and  stubborn  on  the 
patriotic  question,  which,  to  his  mind,  consisted  in  prevent- 
ing the  Jews  from  handing  France  over  to  the  foreigners. 

'  You  have  two  children  at  the  Communal  school, '  Marc 
said  to  him,  '  and  I  have  come  from  the  master,  my  friend 
Simon,  for  some  information.  But  I  see  that  you  are 
hardly  a  friend  of  the  Jews. ' 

Doloir  still  laughed.  '  It 's  true,'  said  he,  '  that  Monsieur 
Simon  is  a  Jew;  but  hitherto  I  always  thought  him  a  worthy 
man.  What  information  do  you  want,  monsieur  ? ' 

When  he  learnt  that  the  question  was  merely  one  of  show- 
ing his  children  a  writing  copy  in  order  to  ascertain  whether 
they  had  ever  used  it  in  their  class,  he  responded:  'Nothing 
can  be  easier,  monsieur,  if  it  will  do  you  a  service.  Come 
upstairs  with  me,  the  children  must  be  at  home. ' 

The  door  was  opened  by  Madame  Doloir,  a  dark,  short 
but  robust  woman,  having  a  serious,  energetic  face  with  a 
low  brow,  frank  eyes,  and  a  square-shaped  chin.  Although 
she  was  barely  nine  and  twenty  she  was  already  the  mother 
of  three  children,  and  it  was  evident  that  she  was  expecting 
a  fourth.  But  this  did  not  prevent  her  from  being  always 
the  first  to  rise  and  the  last  to  go  to  bed  in  the  home,  for 
she  was  very  industrious,  very  thrifty,  always  busy,  scrubbing 
and  cleaning.  She  had  quitted  her  employment  as  a  seam- 
stress about  the  time  of  the  birth  of  her  third  child,  and 
nowadays  she  only  attended  to  her  home,  but  she  did  so 
like  a  woman  who  fully  earned  her  bread. 

'This  gentleman  is  a  friend  of  the  schoolmaster,  and 
wishes  to  speak  to  the  children,'  her  husband  explained  to 
her. 

Marc  entered  a  very  clean  dining  or  living  room.  The 
little  kitchen  was  on  the  left,  with  its  door  wide  open.  In 
front  were  the  bedrooms  of  the  parents  and  the  children. 


TRUTH  55 

'Auguste!  Charles! '  the  father  called. 

Auguste  and  Charles,  one  eight,  the  other  six  years  old, 
hastened  forward,  followed  by  their  little  sister  Lucille,  who 
was  four.  They  were  handsome,  well-fed  children  in  whom 
one  found  the  characteristics  of  the  father  and  the  mother 
combined ;  the  younger  boy  appearing  more  intelligent  than 
the  elder  one,  and  the  little  girl,  a  blondine  with  a  soft  laugh, 
already  looking  quite  pretty. 

When,  Marc,  however,  showed  the  copy  to  the  boys  and 
questioned  them,  Madame  Doloir,  who  hitherto  had  not 
spoken  a  word,  hastily  intervened:  '  Excuse  me,  monsieur, 
but  I  do  not  wish  my  children  to  answer  you." 

She  said  this  very  politely,  without  the  slightest  sign  of 
temper,  like  a  good  mother,  indeed,  who  was  merely  fulfill- 
ing her  duty. 

'  But  why  ? '  Marc  asked  in  his  amazement. 

1  Why,  because  there  is  no  need  for  us,  monsieur,  to 
meddle  in  an  affair  which  seems  likely  to  turn  out  very 
badly.  I  have  had  it  dinned  into  my  ears  ever  since  yester- 
day morning;  and  I  won't  have  anything  to  do  with  it, 
that  's  all.' 

Then,  as  Marc  insisted  and  began  to  defend  Simon,  she 
retorted:  'I  say  nothing  against  Monsieur  Simon,  the 
children  have  never  had  to  complain  of  him.  If  he  is  ac- 
cused, let  him  defend  himself:  that  is  his  business.  For 
my  part  I  have  always  tried  to  prevent  my  husband  from 
meddling  in  politics,  and  if  he  listens  to  me  he  will  hold  his 
tongue,  and  take  up  his  trowel  without  paying  any  attention 
either  to  the  Jews  or  to  the  priests.  All  this,  at  bottom,  is 
politics  again.' 

She  never  went  to  church,  although  she  had  caused  her 
children  to  be  baptised  and  had  decided  to  let  them  take 
their  first  Communion.  Those,  however,  were  things  one 
had  to  do.  For  the  rest,  she  simply  and  instinctively  held 
conservative  views,  accepting  things  as  they  were,  accom- 
modating herself  to  her  narrow  life,  for  she  was  terrified  by 
the  thought  of  catastrophes  which  might  diminish  their  daily 
bread.  With  an  expression  of  stubborn  resolve  she  re- 
peated: '  I  do  not  wish  any  of  us  to  be  compromised." 

Those  words  were  decisive:  Doloir  himself  bowed  to 
them.  Although  he  usually  allowed  his  wife  to  lead  him, 
he  did  not  like  her  to  exercise  her  power  before  others. 
But  this  time  he  submitted. 

'  I  did  not  reflect,  monsieur,'  he  said.     '  My  wife  is  right. 


56  TRUTH 

It  is  best  for  poor  devils  like  us  to  keep  quiet.  One  of  the 
men  in  my  regiment  knew  all  sorts  of  things  about  the  Cap- 
tain. Ah!  they  did  not  stand  on  ceremony  with  him.  You 
should  have  seen  what  a  number  of  times  he  was  sent  to  the 
cells! ' 

Marc,  like  the  husband,  had  to  accept  the  position;  and 
so,  renouncing  all  further  inquiry  there,  he  merely  said:  '  It 
is  possible  that  the  judicial  authorities  may  ask  your  boys 
what  I  desired  to  ask  them.  In  that  case  they  will  have  to 
answer. ' 

'Very  good,'  Madame  Doloir  answered  quietly,  'if  the 
judicial  authorities  question  them  we  shall  see  what  they 
ought  to  do.  They  will  answer  or  not,  it  will  all  depend ; 
my  children  are  mine,  and  it  is  my  business. ' 

Marc  withdrew,  escorted  by  Doloir,  who  was  in  a  hurry 
to  return  to  his  work.  When  they  reached  the  street,  the 
mason  almost  apologised.  His  wife  was  not  always  easy  to 
deal  with,  he  remarked ;  but  when  she  said  the  right  thing, 
it  was  right  and  no  mistake. 

Such  was  Marc's  discouragement  that  he  now  wondered 
whether  it  would  be  worth  his  while  to  carry  the  inquiry 
further  by  visiting  Savin  the  clerk.  In  the  Doloirs'  home 
he  had  not  found  the  same  dense  ignorance  as  at  the  Bon- 
gards'.  The  former  were  a  step  higher  in  the  social  scale, 
and  if  both  husband  and  wife  were  still  virtually  illiterate, 
they  at  least  came  in  contact  with  other  classes,  and  knew  a 
little  of  life.  But  how  vague  was  still  the  dawn  which  they 
typified,  how  dim  was  the  groping  through  idiotic  egotism, 
in  what  disastrous  errors  did  lack  of  solidarity  maintain  the 
poor  folk  of  that  class!  If  they  were  not  happier  it  was 
because  they  were  ignorant  of  every  right  condition  of  civic 
life,  of  the  necessity  that  others  should  be  happy  in  order 
that  one  might  be  happy  oneself.  Marc  thought  of  that 
human  house,  the  doors  and  windows  of  which  people  have 
striven  to  keep  closed  for  ages,  whereas  they  ought  to  be 
opened  widely  in  order  to  allow  air  and  warmth  and  light 
to  enter  in  torrents  freely. 

While  he  was  thus  reflecting,  he  turned  the  corner  of  the 
Rue  Plaisir,  and  reached  the  Rue  Fauche,  where  the  Savins 
dwelt.  He  thereupon  felt  ashamed  of  his  discouragement, 
so  he  climbed  the  stairs  to  their  flat,  and  speedily  found 
himself  in  the  presence  of  Madame  Savin,  who  had  hastened 
to  answer  his  ring. 

'  My  husband,  monsieur  ?     Yes,  as  it  happens,  he  is  at 


TRUTH  57 

home,  for  he  was  rather  feverish  this  morning  and  could  not 
go  to  his  office.  Please  follow  me. ' 

She  was  charming  was  Madame  Savin,  dark,  refined  and 
gay,  with  a  pretty  laugh,  and  so  young-looking  also,  though 
her  twenty-eighth  year  was  already  past,  that  she  seemed  to 
be  the  elder  sister  of  her  four  children.  The  firstborn  was 
a  girl,  Hortense;  tollowed  by  twin  boys,  Achille  and 
Philippe,  and  then  by  another  boy,  Jules,  whom  the  young 
mother  was  still  nursing.  It  was  said  that  her  husband  was 
terribly  jealous,  that  he  suspected  her,  and  watched  her, 
ever  full  of  ill-natured  disquietude,  although  she  gave  him 
no  cause  for  it.  A  bead-worker  by  trade,  and  an  orphan, 
she  had  been  sought  by  him  in  marriage  for  her  beauty's 
sake,  after  her  aunt's  death,  when  she  was  quite  alone  in 
the  world;  and  on  this  account  she  retained  a  feeling  of 
gratitude  towards  him,  and  conducted  herself  very  uprightly 
like  a  good  wife  and  a  good  mother. 

Just  as  she  was  about  to  usher  Marc  into  the  adjoining 
room,  some  embarrassment  came  over  her.  Perhaps  she 
feared  the  bad  temper  of  her  husband,  who  was  ever  ready 
to  pick  a  quarrel,  and  to  whom  she  preferred  to  yield  for 
the  sake  of  domestic  peace. 

'  What  name  am  I  to  give,  monsieur  ? '  she  asked. 

Marc  told  her  his  name  and  the  object  of  his  visit,  where- 
upon with  graceful  suppleness  she  glided  away,  leaving  the 
young  man  in  the  little  ante-chamber,  which  he  began  to 
scrutinise.  The  flat  was  composed  of  five  rooms,  occupy- 
ing the  whole  of  that  floor  of  the  house.  Savin,  a  petty 
employ^  of  the  Revenue  service,  clerk  to  the  local  tax- 
collector,  had  to  keep  up  his  rank,  which  in  his  opinion 
necessitated  a  certain  amount  of  outward  show.  Thus  his 
wife  wore  bonnets,  and  he  himself  never  went  out  otherwise 
than  in  a  frock  coat.  But  how  painful  were  the  straits  of 
the  life  which  he  led  behind  that  fa9ade  so  mendaciously 
suggestive  of  class  superiority  and  easy  circumstances! 
The  bitterness  of  his  feelings  came  from  his  consciousness 
that  he  was  bound  fast  to  his  humble  duties,  that  he  had  no 
prospect  whatever  of  advancement,  but  was  condemned  for 
life  to  never-changing  toil  and  a  contemptible  salary,  which 
only  just  saved  him  from  starvation.  Poor  in  health  and 
soured,  humble  and  irritable  at  one  and  the  same  time, 
feeling  as  much  terror  as  rage  in  his  everlasting  anxiety  lest 
he  might  displease  his  superiors,  he  showed  himself  obse- 
quious and  cowardly  at  his  office,  whilst  at  home  he  terror- 


58  TRUTH 

ised  his  wife  with  his  fits  of  passion,  which  suggested  those 
of  a  sickly  child.  She  smiled  at  them  in  her  pretty,  gentle 
way,  and  after  attending  to  the  children  and  the  household 
she  found  a  means  to  work  bead-flowers  for  a  firm  at  Beau- 
mont, very  delicate  and  well-paid  work,  which  provided  the 
family  with  little  luxuries.  But  her  husband,  vexed  at 
heart,  such  was  his  middle-class  pride,  would  not  have  it 
said  that  his  wife  was  forced  to  work,  and  so  it  was  neces- 
sary for  her  to  shut  herself  up  with  her  beads,  and  deliver 
her  work  by  stealth. 

For  a  moment  Marc  heard  a  sharp  voice  speaking  angrily. 
Then,  after  a  gentle  murmur,  silence  fell,  and  Madame 
Savin  reappeared :  '  Please  follow  me,  monsieur. ' 

Savin  scarcely  rose  from  the  arm-chair  in  which  he  was 
nursing  his  attack  of  fever.  A  village  schoolmaster  was  of 
no  consequence.  Short,  lean,  and  puny,  quite  bald  al- 
ready, although  he  was  only  thirty-one  years  old,  the  clerk 
had  a  poor,  cadaverous  countenance,  with  slight,  tired 
features,  light  eyes,  and  a  very  scanty  beard  of  a  dirty 
yellowish  tinge.  He  finished  wearing  out  his  old  frock  coats 
at  home,  and  that  day  the  coloured  scarf  he  had  fastened 
about  his  neck  helped  to  make  him  look  like  a  little  old  man, 
burdened  with  complaints  and  quite  neglectful  of  his  person. 

'  My  wife  tells  me,  monsieur, '  he  said,  '  that  you  have 
called  about  that  abominable  affair,  in  which  Simon  the 
schoolmaster,  according  to  some  accounts,  is  likely  to  be 
compromised;  and  my  first  impulse,  I  confess  it,  was  to 
refuse  to  see  you.' 

Then  he  stopped  short,  for  he  had  just  noticed  on  the 
table  some  bead-work  flowers  which  his  wife  had  been 
making  as  she  sat  beside  him,  while  he  perused  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais.  He  gave  her  a  terrible  glance  which  she 
understood,  for  she  hastened  to  cover  her  work  with  the 
newspaper. 

'  But  don't  regard  me  as  a  Reactionary,  monsieur,'  Savin 
resumed.  '  I  am  a  Republican — in  fact  a  very  advanced 
Republican;  I  do  not  hide  it,  my  superiors  are  well  aware 
of  it.  When  one  serves  the  Republic  it  is  only  honest  to  be 
a  Republican,  is  it  not  ?  Briefly,  I  am  on  the  side  of  the 
Government  for  and  in  all  things.' 

Compelled  to  listen  politely,  Marc  contented  himself  with 
nodding  his  assent. 

'  My  views  on  the  religious  question  are  very  simple,' 
Savin  continued.  '  The  priests  ought  to  remain  in  their 


TRUTH  59 

own  sphere.  I  am  an  anti-clerical  as  I  am  a  Republican. 
But  I  hasten  to  add  that  in  my  opinion  a  religion  is  neces- 
sary for  women  and  children,  and  that  as  long  as  the 
Catholic  religion  is  that  of  the  country,  why,  we  may  as  well 
have  that  one  as  another!  Thus,  with  respect  to  my  wife,  I 
have  made  her  understand  that  it  is  fitting  and  necessary  for 
a  woman  of  her  age  and  position  to  follow  the  observances 
of  religion  in  order  that  she  may  have  a  rule  and  a  morale 
in  the  eyes  of  the  world.  She  goes  to  the  Capuchins! ' 

Madame  Savin  became  embarrassed,  her  face  turned 
pink,  and  she  cast  down  her  eyes.  That  question  of  relig- 
ious practices  had  long  been  a  great  source  of  unpleasant- 
ness in  her  home.  She,  with  all  her  charming  delicacy, 
her  gentle,  upright,  heart,  had  always  regarded  those  prac- 
tices with  repugnance.  As  for  her  husband,  he,  wild  with 
jealousy,  ever  picking  quarrels  with  her  respecting  what  he 
called  her  unfaithfulness  of  thought,  looked  upon  Confes- 
sion and  Communion  solely  as  police  measures,  moral  curbs, 
excellently  suited  to  restrain  women  from  descending  the 
slope  which  leads  to  betrayal.  And  his  wife  had  been 
obliged  to  yield  to  him  in  the  matter,  and  accept  the  con- 
fessor whom  he  selected,  the  bearded  Father  The"odose, 
though  with  her  woman's  instinct  she  divined  the  latter  to 
be  a  man  of  a  horrid  nature.  But  if  she  was  wounded  at 
heart  and  blushed  with  offended  delicacy,  she  none  the 
less  shrugged  her  shoulders  and  continued  to  obey  her 
husband  for  the  sake  of  domestic  quietude. 

'As  for  my  children,  monsieur,'  Savin  was  now  saying, 
'  my  resources  have  not  enabled  me  to  send  Achille  and 
Philippe,  my  twin  sons,  to  college;  so,  naturally  enough,  I 
have  sent  them  to  the  secular  school  in  accordance  with  my 
duty  as  a  functionary  and  a  Republican.  In  the  same  way 
my  daughter  Hortense  goes  to  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's; 
but,  at  bottom,  I  am  well  pleased  to  find  that  that  lady  has 
religious  sentiments,  and  conducts  her  pupils  to  church — 
for,  after  all,  such  is  her  duty,  and  I  should  complain  if  she 
did  not  do  so.  Boys  always  pull  through.  And  yet  if  I 
did  not  owe  an  account  of  my  actions  to  my  superiors, 
would  it  not  have  been  more  advantageous  for  my  sons  if 
I  had  sent  them  to  a  Church  school  ?  Later  in  life  they 
would  have  been  helped  on,  placed  in  good  situations,  sup- 
ported, whereas  now  they  will  simply  vegetate,  as  I  myself 
have  vegetated.' 

His  bitter  rancour  was  overflowing;  and,  seized  with  a 


60  TRUTH 

secret  dread,  he  added  in  a  lower  tone :  '  The  priests,  you 
see,  are  the  stronger,  and  in  spite  of  everything  one  ought 
always  to  be  with  them.' 

A  feeling  of  compassion  came  over  Marc;  that  poor, 
puny,  trembling  being,  driven  desperate  by  mediocrity  of 
circumstances  and  foolishness  of  nature,  seemed  to  him  in 
sore  need  of  pity.  Foreseeing  the  conclusion  of  all  his 
speeches  the  young  man  had  already  risen.  'And  so,  mon- 
sieur, '  he  said,  '  the  information  which  I  desired  to  obtain 
from  your  children ' 

'  The  children  are  not  here,'  Savin  answered;  '  a  lady,  a 
neighbour,  has  taken  them  for  a  walk.  But,  even  if  they 
were  here,  ought  I  to  allow  them  to  answer  you  ?  Judge 
for  yourself.  A  functionary  can  in  no  case  take  sides. 
And  I  already  have  quite  enough  worries  at  my  office  with- 
out incurring  any  responsibility  in  this  vile  affair. ' 

Then,  as  Marc  hastily  bowed,  he  added:  'Although  the 
Jews  prey  on  our  land  of  France  I  have  nothing  to  say 
against  that  Monsieur  Simon,  unless  it  be  that  a  Jew  ought 
never  to  be  allowed  to  be  a  schoolmaster.  I  hope  that  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  will  start  a  campaign  on  that  subject. 
Liberty  and  justice  for  all — such  ought  to  be  the 
watchwords  of  a  good  Republican.  But  the  country  must 
be  put  first,  the  country  alone  must  be  considered,  when  it 
is  in  danger!  Is  that  not  so  ? ' 

Madame  Savin,  who  since  Marc's  entry  into  the  room  had 
not  spoken  a  word,  escorted  the  young  man  to  the  door  of 
the  flat,  where,  while  still  retaining  an  air  of  embarrassment 
amid  her  submissiveness — that  of  a  slave-wife  superior  to 
her  harsh  master  —  she  contented  herself  with  smiling  di- 
vinely. Then  at  the  bottom  of  the  stairs  Marc  encoun- 
tered the  children  whom  the  neighbour  was  bringing  home. 
Hortense,  the  girl,  now  nine  years  old,  was  already  a  pretty 
and  coquettish  little  person,  with  artful  eyes  which  gleamed 
with  maliciousness  when  she  did  not  veil  them  with  the  ex- 
pression of  hypocritical  piety  which  she  had  learnt  to  acquire 
at  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's.  But  Marc  was  more  interested 
in  the  twin  boys,  Achille  and  Philippe,  two  thin  pale  lads, 
sickly  like  their  father,  and  very  unruly  and  sly  for  their 
seven  years.  They  pushed  their  sister  against  the  banister, 
and  almost  made  her  fall;  and  when  they  had  climbed  the 
stairs,  and  the  door  of  the  flat  opened,  an  infant's  wail  was 
heard,  that  of  little  Jules,  who  had  awoke  and  was  already 
in  the  arms  of  his  mother,  eager  for  her  breast. 


TRUTH  6 1 

As  Marc  walked  down  the  street,  he  caught  himself  talk- 
ing aloud.  So  they  were  all  agreed,  from  the  ignorant 
peasant  to  the  timid  and  idiotic  clerk,  passing  by  way  of  the 
brutified  workman,  the  spoilt  fruit  of  barrack  life  and  the 
salary  -system.  In  ascending  the  social  scale  one  merely 
found  error  aggravated  by  narrow  egotism  and  base  coward- 
ice. Men's  minds  remained  steeped  in  darkness;  the  semi- 
education  which  was  nowadays  acquired  without  method, 
and  which  reposed  on  no  serious  scientific  foundation,  led 
simply  to  a  poisoning  of  the  brain,  to  a  state  of  disquieting 
corruption.  There  must  be  education  certainly,  but  com- 
plete education,  whence  hypocrisy  and  falsehood  would  be 
banished  —  education  which  would  free  the  mind  by  ac- 
quainting it  with  truth  in  its  entirety.  Marc  trembled  at 
the  thought  of  the  abyss  of  ignorance,  error,  and  hatred 
which  opened  before  him.  What  an  awful  bankruptcy  there 
would  be  if  those  folk  were  needed  some  day  for  some  work 
of  truth  and  justice!  And  those  folk  typified  France;  they 
were  the  multitude,  the  heavy,  inert  mass,  many  of  them 
worthy  people  no  doubt,  but  none  the  less  a  mass  of  lead, 
which  weighed  the  nation  down  to  the  ground,  incapable  as 
they  were  of  leading  a  better  life,  of  becoming  free,  just, 
and  truly  happy,  because  they  were  steeped  in  ignorance 
and  poison. 

As  Marc  went  slowly  towards  the  school  to  acquaint  his 
friend  Simon  with  the  sad  result  of  his  visits,  he  suddenly 
remembered  that  he  had  not  yet  called  on  the  Mesdames 
Milhomme,  the  stationers  of  the  Rue  Courte;  and  although 
he  anticipated  no  better  result  with  them  than  with  the 
others  he  resolved  to  fulfil  his  commission  to  the  very  end. 

The  Milhommes,  the  ladies'  husbands,  had  been  two 
brothers,  born  at  Maillebois.  Edouard,  the  elder,  had  in- 
herited a  little  stationery  business  from  an  uncle,  and,  being 
of  a  stay-at-home  and  unaspiring  disposition,  had  made  a 
shift  to  live  on  it  with  his  wife;  while  his  younger,  more 
active,  and  ambitious  brother  Alexandre  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  a  fortune  while  hurrying  about  the  country  as  a 
commercial  traveller.  But  death  swooped  down  on  both: 
the  elder  brother  was  the  first  to  die,  as  the  result  of  a 
tragic  accident,  a  fall  into  a  cellar;  the  second  succumbing 
six  months  later  to  an  attack  of  pulmonary  congestion  while 
he  was  at  the  other  end  of  France.  Their  widows  remained 
— -one  with  her  humble  shop,  the  other  with  a  capital  of 
some  twenty  thousand  francs,  the  first  savings  on  which  her 


62  TRUTH 

husband  had  hoped  to  rear  a  fortune.  It  was  to  Madame 
Edouard,  a  woman  of  decision  and  diplomatic  skill,  that  the 
idea  occurred  of  inducing  her  sister-in-law,  Madame  Alex- 
andre,  to  enter  into  a  partnership,  and  invest  her  twenty 
thousand  francs  in  the  little  business  at  Maillebois,  which 
might  be  increased  by  selling  books,  stationery,  and  other 
articles  for  the  schools.  Each  of  the  two  widows  had  a  son, 
and  from  that  time  forward  the  Mesdames  Milhomme,  as 
they  were  called,  Madame  Edouard  with  her  little  Victor, 
and  Madame  Alexandre  with  her  little  Se"bastien,  had  kept 
house  together,  living  in  the  close  intimacy  which  their  in- 
terests required,  although  their  natures  were  radically 
different. 

Madame  Edouard  followed  the  observances  of  the 
Church,  but  this  did  not  mean  that  her  faith  was  firm.  She 
simply  placed  the  requirements  of  her  business  before  every- 
thing else.  Her  customers  were  chiefly  pious  folk  whom 
she  did  not  wish  to  displease.  Madame  Alexandre,  on  the 
contrary,  had  given  up  church-going  at  the  time  of  her 
marriage,  for  her  husband  had  been  a  gay  companion  and 
freethinker,  and  she  refused  to  take  up  religion  again.  It 
was  Madame  Edouard,  the  clever  diplomatist,  who  in- 
geniously indicated  that  these  divergencies  might  become  a 
source  of  profit.  Their  business  was  spreading;  their  shop, 
situated  midway  between  the  Brothers'  school  and  the  Com- 
munal school,  supplied  articles  suitable  for  both — lesson 
books,  copybooks,  diagrams,  and  drawing  copies,  without 
speaking  of  pens,  pencils,  and  similar  things.  Thus  it  was 
decided  that  each  of  the  two  women  should  retain  her  views 
and  ways,  the  one  with  the  priests,  the  other  with  the 
freethinkers,  in  such  wise  as  to  satisfy  both  sides.  And  in 
order  that  nobody  might  remain  ignorant  of  the  understand- 
ing, Sebastien  was  sent  to  the  secular  Communal  school, 
where  Simon  the  Jew  was  master,  while  Victor  remained  at 
the  Brothers'  school.  Matters  being  thus  settled,  engineered 
with  superior  skill,  the  partnership  prospered,  and  Mes- 
dames Milhomme  now  owned  one  of  the  most  thriving 
shops  in  Maillebois. 

Marc,  on  reaching  the  Rue  Courte,  in  which  there  were 
only  two  houses,  the  Milhommes'  and  the  parsonage,  slack- 
ened his  steps,  and  for  a  moment  examined  the  windows  of 
the  stationery  shop,  in  which  religious  prints  were  mingled 
with  school  pictures  glorifying  the  Republic,  whilst  illus- 
trated newspapers,  hanging  from  strings,  almost  barred  the 


TRUTH  63 

doorway.  He  was  about  to  enter  when  Madame  Alexandre 
— a  tall  and  gentle-looking  blonde,  whose  face,  faded  al- 
ready, though  she  was  only  thirty,  was  still  lighted  by  a 
faint  smile — appeared  upon  the  threshold.  Close  beside 
her  was  her  little  Se"bastien,  of  whom  she  was  very  fond:  a 
child  of  seven,  fair  and  gentle  like  his  mother,  very  hand- 
some also,  with  blue  eyes,  a  delicately  shaped  nose,  and  a 
mouth  bespeaking  amiability. 

Madame  Alexandre  was  acquainted  with  Marc,  and  she 
at  once  referred  to  the  abominable  crime  which  seemed  to 
haunt  her.  '  How  dreadful,  Monsieur  Froment! '  said  she. 
'  To  think  also  that  it  occurred  so  near  to  us!  I  frequently 
saw  poor  little  Zephirin  go  by,  either  on  his  way  to  school 
or  returning  home.  And  he  often  came  here  to  buy  copy- 
books and  pens.  I  can  no  longer  sleep  since  I  saw  him 
dead! ' 

Then  she  spoke  compassionately  of  Simon  and  his  grief. 
She  considered  him  to  be  very  kind-hearted  and  upright, 
particularly  as  he  took  a  great  interest  in  her  little  Sebastien, 
who  was  one  of  his  most  intelligent  and  docile  pupils. 
Whatever  other  people  might  say,  she  would  never  be  able 
to  think  the  master  capable  of  such  a  frightful  deed  as  that 
crime.  As  for  the  copy-slip  of  which  people  talked  so 
much,  nothing  would  have  been  proved  even  if  similar  ones 
had  been  found  in  the  school. 

'We  sell  such  slips,  you  know,  Monsieur  Froment,'  she 
continued,  '  and  I  have  already  searched  through  those 
which  we  have  in  stock.  It  is  true  that  none  bear  those 
particular  words,  "  Love  one  another  " ' 

At  this  moment  Sebastien,  who  had  been  listening  atten- 
tively, raised  his  head.  '  I  saw  one  like  that, '  said  he. 
'  My  cousin  Victor  brought  one  home  from  the  Brothers' 
school — there  were  those  words  on  it ! ' 

His  mother  appeared  stupefied:  '  What  are  you  saying  ? ' 
she  exclaimed.  '  You  never  mentioned  that  to  me! ' 

'  But  you  did  not  ask.  Besides,  Victor  forbade  me  to 
tell,  because  it  's  forbidden  to  take  the  copy-slips  from 
school.' 

'  Then  where  is  that  one  ?  ' 

'Ah!  I  don't  know.  Victor  hid  it  somewhere,  so  that  he 
might  not  be  scolded.' 

Marc  was  following  the  scene,  astonished,  delighted,  his 
heart  beating  fast  with  hope.  Was  the  truth  about  to  come 
forth  from  the  mouth  of  that  child  ?  Perchance  this  would 


64  TRUTH 

prove  the  feeble  ray  which  spreads  little  by  little  until  it 
finally  expands  into  a  great  blaze  of  light.  And  the  young 
man  was  already  putting  precise  and  decisive  questions  to 
Se"bastien,  when  Madame  Edouard,  accompanied  by  Vic- 
tor, appeared  upon  the  scene.  She  was  returning  from  a 
visit  which  she  had  just  made  to  Brother  Fulgence,  under 
the  pretext  of  applying  for  the  payment  of  a  stationery 
account. 

Taller  than  her  sister-in-law,  Madame  Edouard  was  dark, 
with  a  massive  square-shaped  face  and  a  masculine  appear- 
ance. Her  gestures  were  quick,  her  speech  was  loud.  A 
good  and  honest  woman  in  her  way,  she  would  not  have 
wronged  her  partner  of  a  sou,  though  she  never  hesitated  to 
domineer  over  her.  She  indeed  was  the  man  in  the  house- 
hold, and  the  other  as  a  means  of  defence  only  possessed 
her  force  of  inertia,  her  very  gentleness,  of  which  she  availed 
herself  at  times  for  weeks  and  months  together,  thereby  often 
securing  the  victory.  As  for  Victor,  Madame  Edouard's 
son,  he  was  a  sturdy,  squarely-set  lad,  nine  years  of  age, 
with  a  big  dark  head  and  massive  face,  quite  a  contrast 
indeed  to  his  cousin  Sebastien. 

Directly  Madame  Edouard  was  apprised  of  the  situation, 
she  looked  at  her  son  severely:  'What!  a  copy?  You  stole 
a  copy  from  the  Brothers  and  brought  it  here  ?  ' 

Victor  had  already  turned  a  glance  of  despair  and  fury 
upon  Sebastien.  '  No,  no,  mamma,'  he  answered. 

'  But  you  did,  for  your  cousin  saw  it.  He  does  not 
usually  tell  falsehoods.' 

The  boy  ceased  answering,  but  he  still  cast  terrible 
glances  at  his  cousin.  And  the  latter  was  by  no  means  at 
his  ease,  for  he  well  knew  the  physical  strength  of  his  play- 
mate, and  commonly  represented  the  vanquished,  beaten 
enemy  whenever  they  had  a  game  at  war  together.  Under 
the  elder's  guidance,  there  were  endless  noisy  gallops 
through  the  house ;  the  younger,  so  gentle  by  nature,  letting 
himself  be  led  into  them  with  a  kind  of  rapturous  terror. 

'  No  doubt  he  did  not  steal  it,'  Madame  Alexandre  ob- 
served indulgently.  '  Perhaps  he  only  brought  it  home  by 
mistake.' 

In  order  that  his  cousin  might  the  more  readily  forgive 
his  indiscretion,  Sebastien  at  once  confirmed  this  suggestion: 
'  Of  course,  it  was  like  that.  I  did  not  say  he  stole  it.' 

Madame  Edouard,  having  now  calmed  down,  ceased  to 
exact  an  immediate  answer  from  Victor,  who  remained 


TRUTH  65 

silent  as  if  stubbornly  resolved  upon  making  no  confession. 
His  mother,  for  her  part,  doubtless  reflected  that  it  would 
be  scarcely  prudent  to  investigate  the  matter  in  a  stranger's 
presence  without  weighing  the  gravity  of  the  consequences. 
She  pictured  herself  taking  one  or  the  other  side  in  the 
affair,  and  setting  either  the  Brothers'  school  or  the  Com- 
munal school  against  her,  thereby  losing  one  set  of  customers. 
So,  after  casting  a  domineering  glance  at  Madame  Alexan- 
dre,  she  contented  herself  with  saying  to  her  son :  '  That 
will  do.  Go  indoors,  monsieur;  we  will  settle  all  this  by 
and  by.  Just  reflect,  and  if  you  do  not  tell  me  the  real 
truth,  I  shall  know  what  to  do  to  you.' 

Then,  turning  to  Marc,  she  added:  'We  will  tell  you 
what  he  says,  monsieur;  and  you  may  depend  upon  it  that 
he  will  soon  speak  unless  he  desires  such  a  whipping  as  he 
is  not  likely  to  forget.' 

Marc  could  not  insist  any  further,  however  ardent  might 
be  his  desire  to  learn  the  whole  truth  immediately,  in  order 
that  he  might  convey  it  to  Simon  like  tidings  of  deliverance. 
But  he  no  longer  felt  a  doubt  respecting  the  genuineness  of 
the  decisive  fact,  the  triumphant  proof  which  chance  had 
placed  in  his  hands;  so  he  at  once  hastened  to  his  friend's, 
to  tell  him  of  his  successive  repulses  with  the  Bongards,  the 
Doloirs,  and  the  Savins,  and  of  the  unhoped-for  discovery 
which  he  made  at  the  Milhommes'.  Simon  listened 
quietly,  showing  no  sign  of  the  delight  which  Marc  had 
anticipated.  Ah!  there  were  similar  copies  at  the  Brothers' 
school  ?  Well,  he  was  not  astonished  to  hear  it.  For  his 
own  part,  why  should  he  worry,  as  he  was  innocent  ? 

'I  thank  you  very  much  for  all  the  trouble  you  have  taken, 
my  good  friend,'  he  added,  'and  I  fully  understand  the  im- 
portance of  that  child's  statement.  But  I  cannot  accustom 
myself  to  the  idea  that  my  fate  depends  on  what  may  be 
said,  or  what  may  not  be  said,  considering  that  I  am  guilty 
of  nothing.  To  my  thinking,  that  is  as  evident  as  the  sun 
in  the  skies.' 

Marc,  who  felt  quite  enlivened,  began  to  laugh.  He  now 
shared  his  friend's  confidence.  And  after  they  had  chatted 
for  a  moment,  he  took  his  leave,  but  suddenly  returned  to 
ask:  '  Has  handsome  Mauraisin  been  to  see  you  ? ' 

'  No,  I  have  not  seen  him,"  Simon  answered. 

'  In  that  case,  my  friend,  he  must  have  wished  to  ascer- 
tain the  opinions  of  all  Maillebois  before  coming.  I  caught 
sight  of  him  this  morning,  first  with  Father  Crabot,  and 


66  TRUTH 

afterwards  with  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire.  While  I  was  run- 
ning about  this  afternoon,  too,  I  fancied  I  saw  him  twice — 
once  slipping  into  the  Ruelle  des  Capucins,  and  then,  as  it 
seemed  to  me,  on  his  way  to  the  mayor's.  He  must  have 
been  making  inquiries  in  order  to  be  sure  of  taking  the 
stronger  side. ' 

Simon,  hitherto  so  calm,  made  a  nervous  gesture;  for, 
timid  by  nature,  he  regarded  his  superiors  with  respect  and 
fear.  Indeed,  his  sole  personal  worry  in  the  catastrophe 
was  the  possibility  of  a  great  scandal  which  might  cost  him 
his  situation,  or  at  least  cause  him  to  be  regarded  very  un- 
favourably by  the  officials  of  his  department.  And  he  was 
about  to  confess  this  apprehension  to  Marc  when,  as  it 
happened,  Mauraisin  presented  himself,  looking  frigid  and 
thoughtful. 

'  Yes,  Monsieur  Simon,  I  have  hastened  here  on  account 
of  that  horrible  affair.  I  am  in  despair  for  the  school,  for 
all  of  you,  and  for  ourselves.  It  is  very  serious — very 
serious — very  serious.' 

As  he  spoke  the  Elementary  Inspector  drew  up  his  little 
figure,  and  his  words  fell  from  his  lips  with  increasing  sever- 
ity. In  a  formal  way  he  had  shaken  hands  with  Marc, 
knowing  that  Le  Barazer,  the  Academy  Inspector,  his  su- 
perior; was  partial  to  the  young  man.  But  he  looked  at 
him  askance  through  his  glasses  as  if  to  invite  him  to  with- 
draw. And  Marc  could  not  linger,  although  it  worried  him 
to  leave  Simon  alone  with  that  man,  on  whom  his  position 
depended,  and  before  whom  he  now  trembled — he  who  had 
shown  so  much  courage  ever  since  the  morning.  But  there 
was  no  help  for  it;  so  Marc  went  home  full  of  the  new  im- 
pression that  had  come  to  him,  the  covert  hostility  of  that 
man  Mauraisin,  whom  he  divined  to  be  a  traitor. 

The  evening,  spent  with  the  ladies,  proved  very  quiet. 
Neither  Madame  Duparque  nor  Madame  Berthereau  re- 
ferred to  the  crime,  and  the  little  house  fell  asleep  peace- 
fully, as  if  nought  of  the  tragedy  in  progress  elsewhere  had 
ever  entered  it.  Marc  had  thought  it  prudent  to  say  nothing 
about  his  busy  afternoon.  On  going  to  bed  he  contented 
himself  with  telling  his  wife  that  he  felt  quite  at  ease  with 
reference  to  his  friend  Simon.  The  news  pleased  Gene- 
vieve;  and  they  then  continued  chatting  until  rather  late, 
for  in  the  daytime  they  were  never  alone  together,  never 
able  to  speak  freely,  in  such  wise  that  they  seemed  to  be 
strangers.  When  they  fell  asleep  in  each  other's  arms,  it 


TRUTH  67 

was  as  if  they  had  been  blissfully  reunited  after  a  positive 
separation. 

But,  in  the  morning,  Marc  was  painfully  astonished  to 
find  an  abominable  article  against  Simon  in  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais.  He  remembered  the  paragraph  of  the  previous 
day  which  had  expressed  so  much  sympathy  with  the 
schoolmaster  and  had  covered  him  with  praise.  Twenty- 
four  hours  had  sufficed  to  effect  a  complete  change,  and 
now,  with  a  wonderful  show  of  perfidious  suppositions  and 
false  interpretations  of  the  facts,  the  Jew  was  savagely  sac- 
rificed, plainly  accused  of  the  ignoble  crime.  What  could 
have  happened  then  ?  What  powerful  influence  could  have 
been  at  work  ?  Whence  came  that  poisoned  article,  drafted 
so  carefully  in  order  that  the  Jew  might  be  for  ever  con- 
demned by  the  ignorant  populace  athirst  for  falsehood  ? 
That  newspaper  melodrama  with  its  mysterious  intrica- 
cies, its  extraordinary  fairy-tale  improbabilities,  would  prove, 
Marc  felt  it,  a  legend  changing  into  truth,  positive  truth, 
from  which  people  henceforth  would  refuse  to  depart.  And 
when  the  young  man  had  finished  his  perusal  he  again  be- 
came conscious  of  some  secret  working  in  the  gloom,  some 
immense  work  which  mysterious  forces  had  been  accom- 
plishing since  the  previous  day  in  order  to  ruin  the  innocent 
and  thereby  save  the  unknown  culprit. 

Yet  no  fresh  incident  had  occurred,  the  magistrates  had 
not  returned  to  Maillebois,  there  was  still  only  the  gen- 
darmes guarding  the  chamber  of  the  crime,  where  lay  the 
remains  of  the  poor  little  victim,  awaiting  burial.  The 
post-mortem  examination  on  the  previous  day  had  merely 
confirmed  the  facts  which  were  already  known:  After  a 
scene  of  horror  Ze"phirin  had  been  killed  by  strangulation, 
as  was  indicated  by  the  deep  violet  finger-marks  around  his 
neck.  It  had  been  settled  that  the  funeral  should  take 
place  that  afternoon,  and,  according  to  report,  preparations 
were  being  made  to  invest  it  with  avenging  solemnity.  The 
authorities  were  to  be  present  as  well  as  all  the  victim's 
school-fellows. 

Marc,  whom  anxiety  assailed  once  more,  spent  a  gloomy 
morning.  He  did  not  go  to  see  Simon,  for  he  thought  it 
best  to  do  so  in  the  evening  after  the  funeral.  He  contented 
himself  with  strolling  through  Maillebois,  which  he  found 
drowsy,  as  if  gorged  with  horrors,  while  waiting  for  the 
promised  spectacle.  After  his  walk  the  young  man's  spirits 
revived,  and  he  was  finishing  lunch  with  the  ladies,  amused 


68  TRUTH 

by  the  prattle  of  little  Louise,  who  was  very  lively  that  day, 
when  PeUagie,  on  entering  the  room  with  a  fine  plum  tart, 
found  herself  unable  to  restrain  her  rapturous  delight. 

'Ah!  madame,'  she  exclaimed,  'they  are  arresting  that 
brigand  of  a  Jew!  At  last!  It 's  none  too  soon!  ' 

'  They  are  arresting  Simon  ?  How  do  you  know  it  ? ' 
exclaimed  Marc,  who  had  turned  very  pale. 

'  Why,  everybody  says  so,  monsieur.  The  butcher  across 
the  road  has  just  gone  off  to  see  it.' 

Marc  flung  down  his  napkin,  rose,  and  went  out  without 
touching  any  tart.  The  ladies  were  aghast,  deeply  offended 
by  such  a  breach  of  good  manners.  Even  Genevieve 
seemed  to  be  displeased. 

'  He  is  losing  his  senses,'  said  Madame  Duparque  dryly. 
'Ah!  my  dear  girl,  I  warned  you.  Without  religion  no 
happiness  is  possible.' 

When  Marc  reached  the  street  he  immediately  realised 
that  something  extraordinary  was  taking  place.  All  the 
shopkeepers  were  at  their  doors,  some  people  were  running, 
while  an  ever-increasing  uproar  of  shouts  and  jeers  was  to 
be  heard.  Hastening  his  steps  Marc  turned  into  the  Rue 
Courte,  and  there  he  at  once  perceived  the  Mesdames  Mil- 
homme  and  their  children  assembled  on  the  threshold  of  the 
stationery  shop.  They  also  were  deeply  interested  in  the 
great  event.  And  Marc  then  remembered  that  there  was 
some  good  evidence  to  be  obtained  there,  of  which  he  had 
better  make  sure  immediately. 

'  Is  it  true  ? '  he  asked.  '  Is  Monsieur  Simon  being 
arrested  ? ' 

'Why,  yes,  Monsieur  Froment,'  Madame  Alexandre  re- 
plied in  her  gentle  way.  '  We  have  just  seen  the  Commissary 
pass.' 

'And  it  is  certain,  you  know,'  said  Madame  Edouard  in 
her  turn,  looking  him  straight  in  the  face,  and  anticipating 
the  question  which  she  had  already  read  in  his  eyes,  '  it  is 
quite  certain  that  Victor  never  had  that  pretended  copy- 
slip.  I  have  questioned  him,  and  I  am  convinced  that  he 
is  telling  no  falsehood. ' 

The  boy  raised  his  face,  with  its  square  chin  and  large 
eyes  full  of  quiet  impudence.  '  No,  of  course  I  am  not  tell- 
ing a  falsehood,'  he  said. 

Amazed,  chilled  to  the  heart,  Marc  turned  to  Madame 
Alexandre :  '  But  what  was  it  your  son  said,  madame  ?  He 
saw  that  copy  in  his  cousin's  hands — he  declared  it! ' 


TRUTH  69 

The  mother  appeared  ill  at  ease  and  did  not  immediately 
answer.  Her  little  Sebastien  had  already  taken  refuge  in 
her  skirts  as  if  to  hide  his  face,  and  she  with  a  quivering 
hand  fondled  his  hair,  covered  his  head  anxiously  and  pro- 
tectingly. 

'No  doubt,  Monsieur  Froment,'  she  at  last  responded, 
'  he  saw  it,  or  rather  he  fancied  he  saw  it.  At  present  he  is 
not  very  sure:  he  thinks  he  may  have  been  mistaken.  And 
so,  you  see,  there  is  nothing  more  to  be  said.' 

Unwilling  to  insist  with  the  women,  Marc  addressed  him- 
self to  the  little  boy.  '  Is  it  true  that  you  did  not  see  the 
copy  ?  There  is  nothing  so  wicked  as  a  lie,  my  child. ' 

Sebastien,  instead  of  answering,  pressed  his  face  more 
closely  to  his  mother's  skirt,  and  burst  into  sobs.  It  was 
evident  that  Madame  Edouard,  like  a  good  trader,  who 
feared  that  by  taking  any  particular  side  in  the  conflict  she 
might  lose  a  part  of  her  custom,  had  imposed  her  will  upon 
the  others.  She  was  as  firm  as  a  rock,  and  it  would  be  im- 
possible to  move  her.  However,  she  condescended  to  indi- 
cate the  reasons  by  which  she  was  guided. 

'Man  Dt'eu,  Monsieur  Froment,'  she  said,  '  we  are  against 
nobody,  you  know;  we  need  everybody's  help  in  our  busi- 
ness. Only  it  must  be  admitted  that  all  the  appearances 
are  against  Monsieur  Simon.  Take,  for  instance,  that  train 
which  he  says  he  missed,  that  return  ticket  which  he  threw 
away  in  the  station  yard,  that  four-mile  walk  when  he  met 
nobody.  Besides,  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  is  positive  that 
she  heard  a  noise  about  twenty  minutes  to  eleven  o'clock, 
whereas  he  pretends  that  he  did  not  return  till  an  hour  later. 
Explain,  too.  how  it  happened  that  Monsieur  Mignot  had  to 
go  and  wake  him  when  it  was  nearly  eight  o'clock  in  the 
morning — he  who  is  usually  up  so  early.  .  .  .  Well, 
perhaps  he  will  justify  himself.  For  his  sake,  let  us  hope 

Marc  stopped  her  with  a  gesture.  She  was  repeating 
what  he  had  read  in  Le  Petit  Beaumontais,  and  he  was  ter- 
rified by  it.  He  cast  a  keen  glance  on  both  women — the 
one  who  so  resolutely  silenced  her  conscience,  the  other 
who  trembled  from  head  to  foot;  and  he  himself  shuddered 
at  the  thought  of  their  sudden  falsehood  which  might  lead 
to  such  disastrous  consequences.  Then  he  left  them  and 
hastened  to  Simon's. 

A  closed  vehicle,  guarded  by  two  plain-clothes  officers, 
was  waiting  at  the  door.  The  orders  were  stringent,  but 


7O  TRUTH 

Marc  at  last  contrived  to  enter.  While  two  other  officers 
guarded  Simon  in  the  classroom,  the  Commissary  of  Police, 
who  had  arrived  with  a  warrant  signed  by  Investigating 
Magistrate  Daix,  conducted  a  fresh  and  very  minute  per- 
quisition through  the  whole  house,  seeking,  no  doubt,  for 
copies  of  the  famous  writing  slip.  But  he  found  nothing; 
and  when  Marc  ventured  to  ask  one  of  the  officers  if  a 
similar  perquisition  had  taken  place  at  the  school  kept  by 
the  Brothers  of  the  Christian  Doctrine,  the  man  looked  at 
him  in  amazement.  A  perquisition  at  the  good  Brothers' 
school  ?  What  for,  indeed  ?  But  Marc  was  already  shrug- 
ging his  shoulders  at  his  own  simplicity,  for,  even  supposing 
that  the  officers  had  gone  to  the  Brothers',  the  latter  had 
been  allowed  ample  time  to  burn  and  destroy  everything 
likely  to  compromise  them. 

The  young  man  had  to  exert  all  his  powers  of  restraint  to 
prevent  himself  from  expressing  his  feelings  of  revolt.  His 
powerlessness  to  demonstrate  the  truth  filled  him  with  de- 
spair. For  yet  another  hour  he  had  to  remain  in  the  hall, 
waiting  for  the  finish  of  the  Commissary's  search.  At  last, 
just  as  the  officers  were  about  to  remove  Simon,  he  was  able 
to  see  him  for  a  moment.  Madame  Simon  and  her  two 
children  were  there  also,  and  she  flung  herself,  sobbing, 
about  her  husband's  neck,  while  the  Commissary,  a  rough 
but  not  hard-hearted  man,  made  a  pretence  of  giving  some 
last  orders.  There  came  a  most  heart-rending  scene. 

Simon,  livid,  crushed  by  the  downfall  of  his  life,  strove  to 
preserve  great  calmness. 

'  Do  not  grieve,  my  darling, '  he  said.  '  It  can  only  be  an 
error,  an  abominable  error.  Everything  will  certainly  be 
explained  as  soon  as  I  am  interrogated,  and  I  shall  soon 
return  to  you.' 

But  Rachel  sobbed  yet  more  violently,  with  a  wild  ex- 
pression on  her  tear-drenched  face,  while  she  raised  the 
poor  little  ones,  Joseph  and  Sarah,  in  order  that  their  father 
might  kiss  them  once  again. 

'  Yes,  yes,  the  poor  children ;  love  them  well ;  take  good 
care  of  them  until  my  return.  And  I  beg  you  do  not  weep 
so;  you  will  deprive  me  of  all  my  courage.' 

He  tore  himself  from  her  clasp,  and  then,  at  the  sight  of 
Marc,  his  eyes  sparkled  with  infinite  joy.  He  quickly 
grasped  the  hand  which  the  young  man  offered  him:  'Ah! 
comrade,  thank  you !  Let  my  brother  David  be  warned  at 
once;  be  sure  to  tell  him  I  am  innocent.  He  will  seek 


TRUTH  71 

everywhere,  he  will  find  the  culprit,  it  is  to  him  that  I  con- 
fide my  honour  and  my  children's.' 

'  Be  easy, '  replied  Marc,  half-choking  with  emotion,  '  I 
will  help  him.' 

But  the  Commissary  now  returned  and  put  an  end  to  the 
leave-taking.  It  was  necessary  that  Madame  Simon,  wild 
with  grief,  should  be  removed  at  the  moment  when  Simon 
was  led  away  by  the  two  officers.  What  followed  was 
monstrous.  The  hour  fixed  for  the  funeral  of  little  Ze'phi- 
rin  was  three,  and,  in  order  to  prevent  any  regrettable  col- 
lision, it  had  been  decided  to  arrest  Simon  at  one  o'clock. 
But  the  perquisition  had  lasted  so  long  that  the  very  thing 
which  the  authorities  had  wished  to  prevent  took  place. 
When  Simon  appeared  outside,  on  the  little  flight  of  steps, 
the  square  was  already  crowded  with  people  who  had  come 
to  see  the  funeral  procession.  And  this  crowd,  which  had 
gorged  itself  with  the  tales  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais,  and 
which  was  still  stirred  by  the  horror  of  the  crime,  raised 
angry  shouts  as  soon  as  it  perceived  the  schoolmaster,  that 
accursed  Jew,  that  slayer  of  little  children,  who  for  his 
abominable  witchery  needed  their  virgin  blood,  whilst  it 
was  yet  sanctified  by  the  presence  of  the  Host.  That  was 
the  legend,  never  to  be  destroyed,  which  sped  from  mouth 
to  mouth,  maddening  the  tumultuous  and  menacing  crowd. 

'  To  death!  To  death  with  the  murderer  and  sacrilegist! 
To  death,  to  death  with  the  Jew! ' 

Chilled  to  his  bones,  paler  and  yet  more  rigid  than  before, 
Simon,  from  the  top  of  the  steps,  responded  by  a  cry  which 
henceforth  came  without  cessation  from  his  lips  as  if  it  were 
the  very  voice  of  his  conscience:  'I  am  innocent,  I  am 
innocent! ' 

Then  rage  transported  the  throng,  the  hoots  ascended 
tempestuously,  a  huge  human  wave  bounded  forward  to 
seize  the  accursed  wretch  and  throw  him  down  and  tear  him 
into  shreds. 

'  To  death!  to  death  with  the  Jew! ' 

But  the  officers  had  quickly  pushed  Simon  into  the  wait- 
ing vehicle,  and  the  driver  urged  his  horse  into  a  fast  trot, 
while  the  prisoner,  never  tiring,  repeated  his  cry  in  accents 
which  rose  above  the  tempest: 

4 1  am  innocent!  I  am  innocent!  I  am  innocent! ' 

All  the  way  down  the  High  Street  the  crowd  rushed, 
howling  louder  and  louder,  behind  the  vehicle.  And  Marc, 
who  had  remained  in  the  square,  dazed  and  full  of  anguish, 


72  TRUTH 

began  to  think  of  the  other  demonstration,  the  indignant 
murmurs,  the  explosion  of  revolt  which  had  attended  the 
end  of  the  prize-giving  at  the  Brothers'  school  two  days 
previously.  Barely  forty-eight  hours  had  sufficed  for  a 
complete  revulsion  of  public  opinion,  and  he  was  terrified 
by  the  abominable  skill,  the  cruel  promptitude  displayed  by 
the  mysterious  hands  which  had  gathered  so  much  darkness 
together.  His  hopes  had  crumbled,  he  felt  that  truth  was 
obscured,  defeated,  in  peril  of  death.  Never  before  had  he 
experienced  such  intense  distress  of  mind. 

But  the  procession  for  little  Zephirin's  funeral  was  already 
being  formed.  Marc  saw  the  devout  Mademoiselle  Rouz- 
aire  bringing  up  the  girls  of  her  class,  after  witnessing 
Simon's  Calvary  without  making  even  a  gesture  of  sym- 
pathy. Nor  had  Mignot,  who  was  surrounded  by  some  of 
the  boys,  gone  to  press  his  superior's  hand.  He  stood  there 
sullen  and  embarrassed,  suffering  no  doubt  from  the  strug- 
gle between  his  good  nature  and  his  interests.  At  last  the 
procession  started,  directing  its  steps  towards  St.  Martin's 
amidst  extraordinary  pomp.  Again  one  realised  how  care- 
fully artful  hands  had  organised  everything  in  order  to 
move  the  people,  excite  its  pity,  and  its  desire  for  vengeance. 
On  either  side  of  the  little  coffin  walked  those  of  Zephirin's 
school-fellows  who  had  taken  their  first  Communion  at  the 
same  time  as  himself.  Next  appeared  Darras,  the  Mayor, 
attended  by  the  other  authorities  and  acting  as  chief 
mourner.  Then  came  all  the  pupils  of  the  Brothers' 
school,  led  by  Brother  Fulgence  with  his  three  assistants, 
Brothers  Isidore,  Lazarus,  and  Gorgias.  The  important 
airs  which  Brother  Fulgence  gave  himself  were  much  re- 
marked; he  came,  went,  and  commanded  on  all  sides, 
going  even  so  far  in  his  agitation  as  to  meddle  with  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire's  pupils  as  though  they  were  under  his 
orders.  And  several  Capuchins  were  also  present  with 
their  superior,  Father  Th6odose,  and  there  were  Jesuits 
from  the  College  of  Valmarie,  headed  by  their  rector, 
Father  Crabot,  together  with  priests  who  had  come  from 
all  the  surrounding  districts — such  a  gathering  of  gowns  and 
cassocks,  indeed,  that  the  whole  Church  of  the  region 
seemed  to  have  been  mobilised  in  order  to  ensure  itself  a 
triumph  by  claiming  as  its  own  the  poor  little  body  which, 
amid  that  splendid  procession,  was  now  being  carried  to 
the  grave. 

Sobs  burst  forth  along  the  whole  line  of  route,  and  furious 


TRUTH  73 

cries  resounded:  '  Death  to  the  Jews!  Death  to  the  dirty 
Jews! ' 

A  final  incident  completed  Marc's  enlightenment  while, 
with  his  heart  full  of  bitterness,  he  continued  to  watch  the 
scene.  He  caught  sight  of  Inspector  Mauraisin,  who,  as  on 
the  previous  day,  had  come  from  Beaumont  to  ascertain,  no 
doubt,  what  might  be  his  best  line  of  conduct.  And  when 
Father  Crabot  passed,  Marc  saw  that  he  and  Mauraisin 
exchanged  a  smile  and  a  discreet  salutation,  like  men  who 
understood  each  other  and  regarded  each  other's  conduct 
with  approval.  All  the  monstrous  iniquity,  woven  in  the 
gloom  during  the  last  two  days,  then  appeared  to  Marc 
under  the  clear  sky,  while  the  bells  of  St.  Martin's  rang 
out  in  honour  of  the  poor  little  boy  whose  tragic  fate  was 
about  to  be  so  impudently  exploited. 

But  a  rough  hand  was  laid  on  Marc's  shoulder,  and  some 
words  addressed  to  him  in  a  tone  of  bitter  irony  caused  him 
to  look  round. 

'  Well,  what  did  I  tell  you,  my  worthy  and  simple  col- 
league? The  dirty  Jew  is  convicted  of  villainy  and  murder. 
And  while  he  travels  to  Beaumont  gaol,  all  the  good  Brothers 
are  triumphing! ' 

It  was  F£rou  who  spoke — Ferou  the  rebellious,  starveling 
schoolmaster,  looking  more  gawky  than  ever,  with  his  hair 
all  in  disorder,  his  long  bony  head,  and  his  big  sneering 
mouth. 

'  How  can  they  be  accused,'  he  continued,  'since  the  little 
victim  belongs  to  them,  to  them  alone?  Ah!  it  's  certain 
that  nobody  will  dare  to  accuse  them,  for  all  Maillebois  has 
seen  them  take  him  to  the  grave  in  grand  procession !  The 
amusing  thing  is  the  buzzing  of  that  ridiculous  black  fly, 
that  idiotic  Brother  Fulgence,  who  knocks  up  against  every- 
body. He  's  over  zealous.  But  you  must  have  also  seen 
Father  Crabot  with  his  shrewd  smile,  which  doubtless  hides 
no  little  stupidity,  whatever  may  be  his  reputation  for  skil- 
fulness.  At  all  events,  remember  what  I  tell  you,  the 
cleverest,  the  only  really  clever  one  among  them  all,  is 
certainly  Father  Philibin,  who  pretends  to  look  like  a  big 
booby.  You  may  search  for  him,  but  you  won't  find  him 
there.  It  was  n't  likely  that  he  would  come  to  Maillebois 
to-day.  He  's  keeping  himself  in  the  background,  and  you 
may  be  sure  that  he  's  doing  some  fine  work.  Ah!  I  don't 
know  exactly  who  the  culprit  may  be — he  is  certainly  none 
of  those — but  he  belongs  to  their  shop,  that  's  as  plain  as  a 


74  TRUTH 

pikestaff,  and  they  will  overturn  everything  rather  than  give 
him  up.' 

Then  as  Marc,  still  overcome,  remained  silent,  merely 
nodding,  Fe"rou  went  on:  'Ah!  they  regard  it  as  a  fine 
opportunity  to  crush  the  freethinkers.  A  Communal 
schoolmaster  guilty  of  abomination  and  murder!  What  a 
splendid  battle-cry !  They  will  soon  settle  our  hash,  rogues 
that  we  are,  without  God  or  country!  Yes,  death  to  the 
traitors  who  've  sold  themselves!  Death  to  the  dirty 
Jews! ' 

Waving  his  long  arms,  Fe>ou  went  off  into  the  crowd. 
As  he  was  wont  to  say  with  his  excessive  jeering  bitterness, 
it  mattered  little  to  him  at  bottom  whether  he  ended  by 
being  burnt  at  the  stake,  in  a  shirt  dipped  in  brimstone,  or 
whether  he  starved  to  death  in  his  wretched  school  at  Le 
Moreux. 

That  evening,  when,  after  a  silent  dinner  in  the  ladies' 
company,  Marc  found  himself  alone  again  with  Genevieve, 
she,  observing  his  despair,  lovingly  passed  her  arms  about 
him,  and  burst  into  tears.  He  felt  deeply  moved,  for  it  had 
seemed  to  him  that  day  as  if  their  bond  of  union  had  been 
slightly  shaken,  as  if  severance  were  beginning.  He  pressed 
her  to  his  heart,  and  for  a  long  time  they  both  wept  without 
exchanging  a  word. 

At  last,  hesitating  somewhat,  she  said  to  him:  'Listen, 
my  dear  Marc,  I  think  we  should  do  well  to  shorten  our  stay 
with  grandmother.  We  might  go  away  to-morrow.' 

Surprised  by  these  words,  he  questioned  her:  '  Has  she 
had  enough  of  us  then?  Were  you  told  to  signify  it  to  me  ? ' 

'  Oh!  no,  no!  On  the  contrary,  it  would  grieve  mamma. 
We  should  have  to  invent  a  pretext,  get  somebody  to  send 
us  a  telegram.' 

'  But  in  that  case,  why  should  we  not  spend  our  full  month 
here  as  usual  ?  We  have  some  little  differences  together, 
no  doubt;  but  I  don't  complain.' 

For  a  moment  Genevieve  remained  embarrassed.  She 
did  not  dare  to  confess  her  anxiety  at  the  thought  that 
something  had  seemed  to  be  detaching  her  from  her  hus- 
band that  evening,  in  the  atmosphere  of  devout  hostility  in 
which  she  lived  at  her  grandmother's.  She  had  felt  indeed 
as  if  the  ideas  and  feelings  of  her  girlhood  were  returning 
and  clashing  with  the  life  which  she  led  as  wife  and  mother. 
But  all  that  was  merely  the  faint  touch  of  the  past,  and  her 
gaiety  and  confidence  soon  returned  amid  Marc's  caresses. 


TRUTH  75 

Near  her,  in  the  cradle,  she  could  hear  the  gentle  and  regu- 
lar breathing  of  her  little  Louise. 

'  You  are  right, '  she  said.  '  Let  us  stay — and  do  your 
duty  as  you  understand  it.  We  love  each  other  too  well  to 
be  otherwise  than  happy,  always.' 


m 

FROM  that  time  forward,  in  order  to  avoid  painful 
quarrels,  nothing  more  was  said  of  the  Affaire  Si- 
mon in  the  ladies'  little  house.  At  meals  they  spoke 
merely  of  the  fine  weather,  as  if  they  were  a  thousand 
leagues  from  Maillebois,  where  the  popular  passions  raged 
more  and  more  tempestuously,  old  friends  of  thirty  years' 
standing,  and  even  relatives  quarrelling,  threatening  one 
another  and  exchanging  blows.  Marc,  who  in  the  home  of 
Genevieve's  family  displayed  such  silence  and  lack  of  in- 
terest, became  elsewhere  one  of  the  most  ardent  combatants, 
an  heroic  worker  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice. 

On  the  evening  of  the  day  when  Simon  was  arrested  he 
had  persuaded  his  colleague's  wife  to  seek  an  asylum  with 
her  parents,  the  Lehmanns,  those  tailors  who  dwelt  in  a 
little  dark  house  of  the  Rue  du  Trou.  It  was  holiday-time, 
the  school  was  closed;  and,  besides,  Mignot  the  assistant- 
master,  remained  to  guard  the  building — that  is,  when  he 
was  not  fishing  in  the  Verpille.  Moreover,  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire,  who  wished  to  take  part  in  the  affair,  in  which 
her  evidence  was  likely  to  prove  important,  had  also  re- 
mained at  her  post,  renouncing  on  this  occasion  the  holiday 
visit  which  she  usually  paid  to  an  aunt  dwelling  at  a  dis- 
tance. Thus  Madame  Simon,  leaving  her  furniture  behind, 
in  order  that  folk  might  not  regard  her  departure  as  terrified 
flight  and  a  tacit  acknowledgment  of  guilt,  had  taken  Joseph 
and  Sarah  to  the  Rue  du  Trou,  with  a  single  trunk  of 
clothes,  as  if  she  merely  intended  to  stay  with  her  parents 
for  a  few  weeks. 

From  that  moment  Marc  visited  the  Lehmanns  almost 
daily.  The  Rue  du  Trou,  which  opened  into  the  Rue  du 
Plaisir,  was  one  of  the  most  sordid  streets  of  the  poor  quar- 
ter of  Maillebois,  and  the  Lehmanns'  house  was  composed 
merely  of  a  dark  shop  and  a  still  darker  shop  parlour  on  the 
ground  floor,  then  three  first-floor  rooms,  reached  by  a 
black  staircase,  at  the  very  top  of  which  was  a  spacious 

76 


TRUTH  77 

garret,  this  last  being  the  only  part  of  the  house  which  the 
sunrays  occasionally  entered.  The  damp,  greenish,  cellar- 
like  shop  parlour  served  as  a  kitchen  and  living  room. 
Rachel  took  possession  of  the  dismal  bedroom  of  her  girl- 
hood; and  the  old  people  contented  themselves  with  one 
chamber,  the  third  being  given  to  the  children,  who  were 
also  allowed  the  run  of  the  garret,  which  made  them  a  gay 
and  spacious  playroom. 

Marc  constantly  felt  surprised  that  such  an  admirable 
woman  as  Rachel,  one  of  so  rare  a  beauty,  should  have 
sprung  in  such  a  horrid  den  from  needy  parents,  weighed 
down  by  a  long  heredity  of  anxious  penury.  Lehmann, 
her  father,  was,  at  five  and  fifty,  a  Jew  of  the  classic  type, 
short  and  insignificant,  with  a  large  nose,  blinking  eyes,  and 
a  thick  grey  beard  which  hid  his  mouth.  His  calling 
had  distorted  him;  he  had  one  shoulder  higher  than  the 
other,  and  a  kind  of  anxious  discomfort  of  body  was  thus 
added  to  his  humility.  His  wife,  who  plied  her  needle  from 
morning  till  night,  hid  herself  away  in  his  shadow,  being  yet 
more  retiring  in  her  humility  and  silent  disquietude.  They 
led  a  narrow  life  full  of  difficulties,  earning  a  scanty  sub- 
sistence by  dint  of  hard  work  for  slowly-acquired  custom- 
ers, such  as  the  few  Israelites  of  the  region  who  were  in 
easy  circumstances,  and  certain  Christians  who  did  not 
spend  much  money  on  their  clothes.  The  gold  of  France, 
with  which  the  Jews  were  said  to  gorge  themselves,  was 
certainly  not  piled  up  there.  Indeed,  a  feeling  of  great 
compassion  came  to  one  at  the  sight  of  those  poor  weary  old 
people,  who  were  ever  trembling  lest  somebody  should  de- 
prive them  of  the  bread  which  cost  them  so  much  toil. 

At  the  Lehmanns',  however,  Marc  became  acquainted 
with  Simon's  brother  David,  whom  a  telegram  had  sum- 
moned on  the  day  of  the  arrest.  Taller  and  stronger  than 
Simon,  whose  senior  he  was  by  three  years,  David  had  a 
full  firm  face  with  bright  and  energetic  eyes.  After  his 
father's  death  he  had  entered  the  army,  in  which  he  had 
served  for  twelve  years,  rising  from  the  ranks  to  a  lieuten- 
ancy, and  after  innumerable  struggles  and  rebuffs  being,  it 
seemed,  near  promotion  to  the  rank  of  captain,  when  he 
suddenly  sent  in  his  papers,  lacking  the  courage  to  contend 
any  longer  against  the  affronts  to  which  his  comrades  and 
superiors  subjected  him  because  he  was  a  Jew.  This  had 
taken  place  some  five  years  before  the  crime  of  Maillebois, 
at  the  time  when  Simon  was  about  to  marry  Rachel 


78  TRUTH 

David,  who  remained  a  bachelor,  looked  round  him  for 
occupation,  and,  like  a  man  of  initiative  and  energy,  em- 
barked in  an  enterprise  of  which  nobody  had  previously 
thought.  This  was  the  working  of  some  very  extensive 
sand  and  gravel  pits  on  the  estate  of  La  Degrade,  which 
then  still  belonged  to  the  millionaire  banker,  Baron  Nathan. 
The  latter,  taken  with  the  young  man's  energy  and  sense, 
granted  him  a  thirty  years'  lease  on  fairly  low  terms,  and 
thus  David  was  soon  on  the  high  road  to  fortune;  for  in 
three  years  he  earned  a  hundred  thousand  francs  in  this 
'enterprise,  which  steadily  increased  in  magnitude  and  at  last 
absorbed  every  hour  of  his  time. 

But,  on  hearing  of  the  charge  brought  against  his  brother, 
he  did  not  hesitate;  he  placed  his  business  in  the  hands  of 
a  foreman  on  whom  he  could  rely,  and  hurried  to  Maille- 
bois.  He  did  not  for  a  moment  doubt  his  brother's  inno- 
cence. It  was  materially  impossible,  he  felt,  that  such  a 
deed  could  be  the  act  of  such  a  man,  the  one  whom  he  knew 
best  in  all  the  world,  who  was  indeed  the  counterpart  of 
himself.  But  he  evinced  great  prudence,  for  he  desired  to 
do  nothing  that  might  harm  his  brother,  and  he  knew,  too, 
that  all  Jews  were  unpopular.  Thus,  when  Marc  in  his  im- 
passioned way  spoke  to  him  of  his  suspicions,  declaring  that 
the  real  culprit  must  certainly  be  one  of  the  Brothers  of  the 
Christian  Doctrine,  David,  though  at  heart  of  the  same 
opinion,  strove  to  calm  his  friend,  saying  that  one  must 
not  lose  sight  of  the  theory  of  a  prowling  tramp,  a  chance 
murderer,  who  might  have  entered  and  left  by  the  window. 
As  a  matter  of  fact,  he  felt  that  he  would  increase  the  popu- 
lar prejudice  against  Simon  by  bringing  any  random  charge 
against  the  Brothers;  he  foresaw,  too,  that  all  efforts  would 
be  vain  against  the  coalition  of  the  interested  parties  unless 
he  were  possessed  of  decisive  proofs.  Meantime,  in  order 
that  Simon  might  benefit  by  an  element  of  doubt,  would  it 
not  be  best  to  revert  to  the  theory  of  that  prowler,  which 
everybody  had  admitted  as  possible  at  the  moment  of  the 
discovery  of  the  crime  ?  It  would  serve  as  an  excellent 
basis  for  provisional  operations ;  whereas  a  campaign  at  that 
moment  against  the  well-informed  and  powerfully  supported 
Brothers  could  only  turn  against  the  prisoner. 

David  was  able  to  see  Simon  in  the  presence  of  Investigat- 
ing Magistrate  Daix,  and  by  the  long  hand-shake  which  they 
then  exchanged  they  fully  understood  that  each  was  pos- 
sessed by  the  same  feelings.  Later,  David  also  saw  his 


TRUTH  79 

brother  at  the  prison,  and,  on  returning  to  the  Lehmanns, 
he  described  Simon  as  being  still  in  great  despair,  ever 
straining  his  mind  in  endeavouring  to  unravel  the  enigma, 
but  displaying  extraordinary  energy  in  defending  his  honour 
and  that  of  his  children.  When  David  recounted  all  this, 
seated  in  the  dim  little  shop  where  Marc  also  was  present, 
the  latter  was  profoundly  stirred  by  the  silent  tears  of 
Madame  Simon,  who  looked  so  beautiful  and  dolorous  in 
her  self-abandonment,  like  a  woman  of  weak  loving  nature 
cruelly  struck  down  by  destiny.  The  Lehmanns  also  could 
only  sigh  and  display  the  shrinking  despair  of  poor  folk  who 
were  resigned  to  contumely.  They  still  plied  their  needles, 
and,  though  they  were  convinced  of  their  son-in-law's  inno- 
cence, they  dared  not  proclaim  it  before  their  customers 
for  fear  lest  they  should  aggravate  his  position  and  lose 
their  own  means  of  livelihood.  The  public  effervescence  at 
Maillebois  was  unhappily  increasing,  and  one  evening  a 
band  of  brawlers  smashed  the  shop  windows.  It  was  neces- 
sary to  put  up  the  shutters  at  once.  Then  little  manuscript 
notices  were  posted  in  various  parts  of  the  town,  calling 
upon  patriots  to  assemble  and  burn  down  the  shop.  For 
some  days  indeed — particularly  one  Sunday,  after  a  pomp- 
ous religious  ceremony  at  the  Capuchin  Chapel — the  explo- 
sion of  anti-semite  passion  became  so  intense  that  Darras,  the 
Mayor,  had  to  send  to  Beaumont  for  police,  deeming  it 
necessary  to  have  guards  posted  in  the  Rue  du  Trou  lest 
the  house  of  the  Lehmanns  should  be  sacked. 

From  hour  to  hour  the  affair  expanded,  and  grew  more 
virulent,  becoming  a  social  battlefield  on  which  rival  parties 
contended  hotly.  Magistrate  Daix  had  doubtless  received 
orders  to  conduct  his  investigations  with  all  possible  speed. 
In  less  than  a  month  he  interrogated  all  the  witnesses — 
Mignot,  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  Father  Philibin,  Brother 
Fulgence,  several  schoolchildren  and  railway  employes. 
Brother  Fulgence,  with  his  usual  exuberance,  demanded 
that  his  three  assistants,  Brothers  Isidore,  Lazarus,  and 
Gorgias,  should  also  be  interrogated;  he  likewise  insisted 
that  a  search  should  be  made  at  his  school,  and  this  was 
done;  but  naturally  nothing  was  found.  Daix  thought  it 
his  duty,  however,  to  inquire  minutely  into  the  suggestion 
that  the  crime  might  have  been  committed  by  a  tramp.  By 
his  orders  the  entire  gendarmerie  of  the  department  scoured 
the  roads,  and  some  fifty  tramps  were  arrested,  and  then 
released,  without  the  slightest  clue  being  arrived  at.  In 


80  TRUTH 

one  instance  a  pedlar  remained  three  days  under  lock  and 
key,  but  to  no  purpose.  Then  Daix,  setting  aside  the 
theory  of  a  prowler,  remained  in  presence  of  the  copy-slip, 
the  one  tangible  piece  of  evidence  at  his  disposal,  the  only 
thing  on  which  he  could  rear  his  charge. 

When  this  reached  the  ears  of  Marc  and  David,  they  be- 
came calm  again,  for  it  seemed  to  them  impossible  that  a 
serious  accusation  could  be  based  on  that  slip  of  paper,  the 
importance  of  which  was  so  open  to  discussion.  As  David 
repeated,  although  no  guilty  tramp  had  been  found,  the 
hypothesis  that  one  existed,  or  at  least  an  element  of  doubt, 
still  remained.  And  if  thereto  one  added  the  lack  of  proof 
against  Simon,  the  moral  improbability  of  his  guilt,  his 
never-varying  protests  of  innocence,  it  was  purely  impos- 
sible for  an  Investigating  Magistrate,  possessed  of  any  con- 
science, to  come  to  the  conclusion  that  he  was  the  culprit. 
A  non-lieu,  otherwise  a  decision  that  there  was  no  ground  to 
proceed  further  against  the  prisoner,  seemed  a  certainty  on 
which  one  might  rely. 

There  came  days,  however,  when  Marc  and  David,  who 
co-operated  in  brotherly  fashion,  began  to  lose  some  of 
their  fine  assurance.  Bad  rumours  reached  them.  The 
Congregations  were  bestirring  themselves  frantically. 
Father  Crabot  was  for  ever  visiting  Beaumont,  availing 
himself  of  his  society  connections  to  dine  with  government 
officials,  members  of  the  judicial  and  even  the  university 
world.  As  the  Jew  prisoner  seemed  more  and  more  likely 
to  secure  release,  so,  on  all  sides,  the  battle  grew  fiercer. 
At  last,  then,  it  occurred  to  David  to  endeavour  to  obtain 
the  support  of  Baron  Nathan,  the  great  banker  and  former 
proprietor  of  La  D6sirade,  who  was  staying  there  as  the 
guest  of  his  daughter,  the  Countess  de  Sanglebceuf,  whose 
marriage  portion  had  consisted  of  that  royal  domain  and  a 
sum  of  ten  millions  of  francs  '  in  hard  cash.  Thus,  one 
bright  afternoon  in  August,  David  and  Marc,  who  also  had 
a  slight  acquaintance  with  the  Baron,  set  out  on  foot  for  La 
Desirade,  a  very  pleasant  walk,  for  the  distance  from  Mail- 
lebois  was  not  much  more  than  a  mile. 

Count  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf,  the  last  scion  of  his  house, 
one  of  the  early  members  of  which  had  been  squire  to  St. 
Louis,  had  found  himself  completely  ruined  when  he  was 
only  thirty-six  years  of  age.  His  father  had  devoured  the 

'About  $1,940,000. 


TRUTH  8 1 

greater  part  of  the  family  fortune  and  he  himself  had  con- 
sumed the  remnants.  After  holding  a  commission  in  the 
Cuirassiers,  he  had  resigned  it,  feeling  tired  of  garrison  life ; 
and  for  a  time  he  had  remained  living  with  a  widow,  the 
Marchioness  de  Boise,  who  was  ten  years  his  senior,  and  far 
too  intent  on  her  own  comfort  to  marry  him,  for  her  penury, 
added  to  his  own,  would  only  have  conduced  to  a  disas- 
trous future.  People  related  that  it  was  this  mistress  who 
had  ingeniously  arranged  the  Count's  marriage  with  Baron 
Nathan's  daughter  Lia,  a  young  person  of  four  and  twenty, 
very  beautiful  and  all  ablaze  with  millions.  Nathan  had 
negotiated  the  transaction  with  his  eyes  open,  knowing  per- 
fectly well  what  he  gave  and  what  he  was  to  receive  in  ex- 
change, adding  his  daughter  to  the  millions  which  left  his 
safe  in  order  that  he  might  have  as  son-in-law  a  Count  of 
very  old  and  authentic  nobility,  which  circumstance  would 
open  to  him  the  portals  of  a  sphere  from  which  he  had  been 
hitherto  excluded. 

He  himself  had  lately  acquired  the  title  of  Baron,  and  he 
was  at  last  escaping  from  the  ancient '  ghetto,'  that  universal 
contumely  of  which  the  haunting  thought  made  him  shud- 
der. A  dealer  in  money,  he  had  filled  his  cellars  with  gold, 
and  his  one  frantic  craving  nowadays,  like  that  of  the 
Christian  moneymongers,  whose  appetities  were  fully  as 
keen,  was  to  gratify  his  pride  and  his  instincts  of  domina- 
tion, to  be  saluted,  honoured  and  worshipped  upon  all 
sides,  and  in  particular  to  be  delivered  from  the  ever- 
pursuing  dread  of  being  kicked  and  spat  upon  like  a  mere 
dirty  Jew.  Thus  he  quite  enjoyed  staying  with  his  son-in- 
law  at  La  Degrade,  deriving  no  little  consideration  from 
the  connections  of  his  daughter  the  Countess,  and  remaining 
in  so  small  a  degree  a  Jew  that,  like  many  other  renegades 
of  his  class,  he  had  enrolled  himself  among  the  anti-semites, 
and  professed  the  most  fervent  royalism  and  patriotism. 
Indeed,  the  dexterous,  smiling  Marchioness  de  Boise,  who 
had  derived  from  her  lover's  marriage  all  the  profit  she  had 
anticipated  for  him  and  for  herself,  was  often  obliged  to 
moderate  the  Baron's  ardour.  That  marriage,  it  should  be 
mentioned,  had  scarcely  changed  the  position  of  the 
Marchioness  and  Count  Hector.  The  former,  a  beautiful 
ripening  blonde,  was  doubtless  devoid  of  jealousy  in  the 
strict  sense  of  the  word,  besides  being  intelligent  enough  to 
combine  such  worldly  enjoyment  as  money  may  procure 
with  the  happiness  of  a  long  and  peaceful  liaison.  Besides, 


82  TRUTH 

she  knew  the  beautiful  Lia  to  be  an  admirable  piece  of 
statuary,  an  idol  full  of  narrow  egotism,  who  found  it  blissful 
to  be  installed  in  a  sanctuary,  where  attendant  worshippers 
adored  but  did  not  unduly  tire  her.  She  did  not  even  read, 
for  reading  soon  brought  her  fatigue;  she  was  quite  content 
to  remain  seated  for  hours  together  in  the  midst  of  general 
attentions,  with  never  a  thought  for  anybody  but  herself. 

Doubtless  she  did  not  long  remain  ignorant  of  the  real 
position  of  the  Marchioness  and  her  husband,  but  she  dis- 
missed the  thought  of  it,  not  wishing  to  be  worried,  and 
indeed  she  was  at  last  unable  to  dispense  with  that  caressing 
friend,  who  was  ever  in  admiration  before  her,  and  who 
lavished  on  her  such  loving  and  pleasing  expressions  as  '  my 
pussy, '  '  my  beautiful  darling, '  '  my  dear  treasure. '  A  more 
touching  friendship  was  never  seen,  and  the  Marchioness 
soon  had  her  room  and  her  place  at  table  at  La  D6sirade. 
Then  another  idea  of  genius  came  to  her.  She  undertook 
to  convert  Lia  to  the  Catholic  faith.  The  young  wife  was 
at  first  terrified  by  the  idea,  for  she  feared  that  she  might  be 
overwhelmed  with  religious  exercises  and  observances.  But, 
directly  Father  Crabot  was  brought  into  the  affair,  he,  with 
his  worldly  graciousness,  made  the  path  quite  easy.  Yet 
the  Countess  was  most  won  over  by  the  enthusiasm  which 
her  father  displayed  for  the  Marchioness's  idea.  It  was  as 
if  the  Baron  hoped  that  he  would  cleanse  himself  of  some 
of  his  own  horrid  Jewry  in  the  water  of  the  young  woman's 
baptism.  When  the  ceremony  took  place  it  quite  upset  so- 
ciety in  Beaumont,  and  it  was  always  spoken  of  as  a  great 
triumph  of  the  Church. 

As  a  final  achievement,  the  motherly  Marchioness  de 
Boise,  who  directed  the  steps  of  Hector  de  Sangleboeuf  as 
if  he  were  her  big,  dull-witted,  obedient  child,  had  with  the 
help  of  his  wife's  fortune  caused  him  to  be  elected  as  one  of 
the  deputies  of  Beaumont,  insisting  too  that  he  should  join 
the  little  parliamentary  group  of  Opportunist  Reactionaries, 
who  gave  out  that  they  had  '  rallied  '  to  the  Republic;  for 
by  this  course  she  hoped  to  raise  him  to  some  high  political 
position.  The  amusing  part  of  the  affair  was  that  Baron 
Nathan,  who,  scarce  freed  from  the  stigma  of  his  Jewish 
ancestry,  had  become  an  uncompromising  Royalist,  now 
found  himself  a  far  more  fervent  partisan  of  the  monarchy 
than  his  son-in-law,  and  this  in  spite  of  the  latter 's  descent 
from  a  squire  of  St.  Louis.  The  Baron,  who  had  found  an 
opportunity  for  personal  triumph  in  the  baptism  of  his 


TRUTH  83 

daughter  —  on  which  occasion  he  had  chosen  her  new 
'  Christian  '  name,  Marie,  by  which  he  always  addressed  her 
with  a  kind  of  pious  affectation  —  triumphed  also  in  the 
election  of  his  son-in-law  as  deputy,  for  he  felt  that  he  might 
be  able  to  make  use  of  him  in  the  political  world.  But, 
apart  from  questions  of  interest,  he  quite  enjoyed  himself  at 
La  D^sirade,  which  was  now  full  of  priests,  and  where  all 
the  talk  was  about  the  various  pious  works  in  which  the 
Marchioness  de  Boise  associated  her  friend  Marie,  with 
whom  she  became  yet  more  intimate  and  loving. 

David  and  Marc  slackened  their  steps  when,  admitted  by 
the  lodge-keeper  of  La  Desirade,  they  at  last  found  them- 
selves in  the  grounds.  It  was  a  splendid  and  enjoyable 
August  day,  and  the  beauty  of  the  great  trees,  the  infinite 
placidity  of  the  lawns,  the  delightful  freshness  of  the  waters 
filled  them  with  admiration.  A  king  might  have  dwelt 
there.  At  the  end  of  the  enchanting  avenues  of  verdure 
extending  on  all  sides,  one  invariably  perceived  the  chateau, 
a  sumptuous  Renaissance  chateau,  rising  like  lace-work  of 
pinkish  stone  against  the  azure  of  the  sky.  And  at  the  sight 
of  that  paradise  acquired  by  Jew  wealth,  at  the  thought  of 
the  splendid  fortune  amassed  by  Nathan  the  Jew  money- 
monger,  Marc  instinctively  recalled  the  gloomy  little  shop 
in  the  Rue  du  Trou,  the  dismal  hovel  without  air  or  sunshine, 
where  Lehmann,  that  other  Jew,  had  been  plying  his  needle 
for  thirty  years,  and  earning  only  enough  to  provide  himself 
with  bread.  And,  ah!  how  many  other  Jews  there  were, 
yet  more  wretched  than  he  —  Jews  who  starved  in  filthy 
dens.  They  were  the  immense  majority,  and  their  existence 
demonstrated  all  the  idiotic  falsity  of  anti-semitism,  that 
proscription  en  masse  of  a  race  which  was  charged  with  the 
monopolisation  of  all  wealth,  when  it  numbered  so  many 
poor  working-folk,  so  many  victims,  crushed  down  by  the 
almightiness  of  money,  whether  it  were  Jew,  or  Catholic,  or 
Protestant.  As  soon  as  ever  a  French  Jew  became  a  great 
capitalist,  he  bought  a  title  of  Baron,  married  his  daughter 
to  a  Count  of  ancient  stock,  made  a  pretence  of  showing 
himself  more  royalist  than  the  king,  and  ended  by  becom- 
ing the  worst  of  renegades,  a  fierce  anti-semite,  who  not 
only  denied,  but  helped  to  slaughter,  his  kith  and  kin. 
There  was  really  no  Jew  question  at  all,  there  was  only  a 
Capitalist  question — a  question  of  money  heaped  up  in  the 
hands  of  a  certain  number  of  gluttons,  and  thereby  poisoning 
and  rotting  the  world. 


84  TRUTH 

As  David  and  Marc  reached  the  chateau  they  perceived 
Baron  Nathan,  his  daughter,  and  his  son-in-law  seated 
under  a  large  oak  tree  in  the  company  of  the  Marchioness 
de  Boise  and  a  cleric,  in  whom  they  recognised  Father 
Crabot.  Doubtless  the  Rector  of  the  College  of  Valmarie 
had  been  invited  to  a  quiet  family  lunch,  in  neighbourly 
fashion — for  a  distance  of  less  than  two  miles  separated  the 
two  estates;  and  doubtless,  also,  some  serious  question  had 
been  discussed  at  dessert.  Then,  to  enjoy  the  fine  weather, 
they  had  seated  themselves  in  some  garden  chairs,  under 
that  oak  and  near  a  marble  basin,  into  which  ever  fell  the 
crystal  of  a  source  which  an  indelicate  nymph  was  pouring 
from  her  urn. 

On  recognising  the  visitors,  who  discreetly  halted  a  short 
distance  away,  the  Baron  came  forward  and  conducted 
them  to  some  other  seats,  set  out  on  the  opposite  side  of  the 
basin.  Short  and  somewhat  bent,  quite  bald  at  fifty,  with 
a  yellow  face,  a  fleshy  nose,  and  black  eyes — the  eyes  of  a 
bird  of  prey  set  deeply  under  projecting  brows — Nathan 
had  assumed  for  the  nonce  an  expression  of  grievous  sym- 
pathy as  if  he  were  receiving  folk  in  deep  mourning  who 
had  just  lost  a  relative.  It  was  plain  that  the  visit  did  not 
surprise  him.  He  must  have  been  expecting  it. 

'Ah!  how  I  pity  you,  my  poor  David,'  he  said.  '  I  have 
often  thought  of  you  since  that  misfortune.  You  know  how 
highly  I  esteem  your  intelligence,  enterprise,  and  industry. 
But  what  an  affair,  what  an  abominable  affair  your  brother 
Simon  has  put  on  your  shoulders!  He  is  compromising 
you,  he  is  ruining  you,  my  poor  David ! ' 

And  with  an  impulse  of  sincere  despair  the  Baron  raised 
his  quivering  hands  and  added,  as  if  he  feared  he  might  see 
the  persecutions  of  olden  time  begin  afresh:  '  The  unhappy 
man!  He  is  compromising  all  of  us! ' 

Then  David  with  his  quiet  bravery  began  to  plead  his 
brother's  cause,  expressing  his  absolute  conviction  of  his 
innocence,  enumerating  the  moral  and  material  proofs 
which  in  his  estimation  were  irrefutable,  while  Nathan 
curtly  jogged  his  head. 

'Yes,  yes,  it  is  only  natural,'  the  Baron  at  last  replied, 
'  you  believe  him  to  be  innocent ;  I  myself  still  wish  to  do 
so.  Unfortunately  it  is  not  a  question  of  convincing  me, 
you  must  convince  the  officers  of  the  law,  and  also  the 
exasperated  masses  who  are  capable  of  doing  harm  to  all  of 
us  if  he  is  not  condemned.  .  .  .  No,  I  shall  never 


TRUTH  85 

forgive  your  brother  for  having  saddled  us  with  such  a 
dreadful  affair.' 

Then,  on  David  explaining  that  he  had  come  to  him, 
knowing  his  influence,  and  relying  on  his  help  to  make  the 
truth  manifest,  the  Baron  became  colder,  more  and  more 
reserved,  and  listened  in  silence. 

'  You  always  showed  me  so  much  kindness,  Monsieur  le 
Baron,'  said  David,  '  and  as  you  used  to  invite  the  judicial 
authorities  of  Beaumont  here,  I  thought  that  you  might 
perhaps  be  able  to  give  me  some  information.  For  in- 
stance, you  are  acquainted  with  Monsieur  Daix,  the  Inves- 
tigating Magistrate  who  has  the  affair  in  hand,  and  who,  I 
hope,  will  soon  stay  further  proceedings.  Perhaps  you  may 
have  some  news  on  that  subject;  besides  which,  if  a  deci- 
sion has  not  yet  been  reached,  a  word  from  you  might 
prove  valuable ' 

4  No,  no,'  Nathan  protested,  '  I  know  nothing,  I  desire  to 
know  nothing.  I  have  no  official  connections,  no  influence. 
Besides,  my  position  as  a  co-religionist  prevents  me  from 
doing  anything;  I  should  merely  compromise  myself  with- 
out rendering  you  any  service.  But  wait  a  moment,  I  will 
call  my  son-in-law.' 

Marc  had  remained  silent,  contenting  himself  with  listen- 
ing. He  had  accompanied  David  merely  to  give  him  the 
support  of  his  presence  as  one  of  Simon's  colleagues.  But 
while  he  listened  he  glanced  in  the  direction  of  the  oak 
tree,  at  the  ladies  sitting  there — Countess  Marie,  as  the 
beautiful  Lia  was  now  called,  and  the  Marchioness  de  Boise, 
between  whom  Father  Crabot  was  reposing  in  a  rustic  arm- 
chair, while  Count  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf,  who  had  re- 
mained erect,  finished  chewing  a  cigar.  The  Marchioness, 
still  slim  and  still  pretty  under  her  fair  hair,  which  she 
powdered,  was  expressing  great  anxiety  respecting  a  sun- 
beam which  darted  on  the  nape  of  the  Countess's  neck;  and 
although  the  beautiful  Jewess,  indolent  and  superb,  declared 
that  she  was  in  no  way  inconvenienced,  her  friend,  lavish- 
ing on  her  all  the  usual  pet  names,  '  my  pussy,'  '  my  jewel,' 
and  '  my  treasure,'  at  last  compelled  her  to  change  places. 
The  Jesuit  Crabot,  who  was  evidently  at  his  ease,  smiled  at 
both  of  them  with  the  air  of  a  very  tolerant  father-confes- 
sor. And  meantime  a  never-ending  flute-like  strain  came 
from  the  crystalline  water  which  the  indelicate  nymph  was 
pouring  from  her  urn  into  the  marble  basin. 

Sangleboeuf,  on  being  called  by  his  father-in-law,  came 


86  TRUTH 

forward  slowly.  With  a  big  body  and  a  full  and  highly- 
coloured  face,  a  low  forehead  and  short-cropped,  ruddy, 
bristling  hair,  he  had  eyes  of  a  dim  blue,  a  small  flabby 
nose,  and  a  large  voracious  mouth,  half-hidden  by  thick 
moustaches.  As  soon  as  the  Baron  had  told  him  of  the 
help  which  David  solicited,  he  became  quite  angry,  though 
he  affected  a  kind  of  military  plain-speaking. 

'What!  mix  myself  up  in  that  affair!  Ah,  no! '  he  ex- 
claimed. '  You  must  excuse  me,  monsieur,  if  I  employ  my 
credit  as  a  deputy  in  clearer  and  cleaner  affairs.  I  am 
quite  willing  to  believe  that  you  personally  are  an  honour- 
able man.  But  you  will  really  have  a  great  deal  to  do  if 
you  wish  to  defend  your  brother.  Besides,  as  all  those  who 
support  you  say,  we  are  the  enemy.  Why  do  you  apply  to 
us  ? ' 

Then,  turning  his  big,  blurred,  wrathful  eyes  on  Marc,  he 
began  to  hold  forth  against  the  godless  and  unpatriotic  folk 
who  dared  to  insult  the  army.  Too  young  to  have  fought 
in  1870,  he  had  merely  served  as  a  garrison  soldier,  taking 
part  in  no  campaign  whatever.  Nevertheless  he  had  re- 
mained a  cuirassier  to  his  very  marrow,  to  cite  one  of  his 
own  expressions.  And  he  boasted  that  he  had  set  two 
emblems  at  his  bedside,  two  emblems  which  summed  up  his 
religion — a  crucifix  and  a  flag,  his  flag — for  which,  unfortu- 
nately for  a  good  many  people,  he  had  not  died. 

'  When  you  have  restored  the  Cross  to  the  schools,  mon- 
sieur,' he  continued,  'when  your  schoolmasters  decide  to 
make  Christians  and  not  citizens  of  their  pupils,  then,  and 
only  then,  will  you  have  any  claim  on  us  should  you  ask  us 
to  render  you  a  service. ' 

David,  pale  and  frigid,  allowed  him  to  run  on  without 
attempting  any  interruption.  It  was  only  when  he  had 
finished  that  he  quietly  rejoined:  '  But  I  have  asked  you  for 
nothing,  monsieur.  It  was  to  Monsieur  le  Baron  that  I 
ventured  to  apply.' 

Nathan,  fearing  a  scene,  then  intervened,  and  led  David 
and  Marc  away,  as  if  to  escort  them  through  a  part  of  the 
grounds.  Father  Crabot,  on  hearing  the  Count's  loud 
voice,  had  for  a  moment  raised  his  head;  then  had  returned 
to  his  worldly  chat  with  his  two  dear  lady  penitents.  And 
when  Sangleboeuf  had  joined  the  others  again,  one  could 
distinctly  hear  them  laughing  at  the  good  lesson  which,  in 
their  opinion,  had  just  been  administered  to  a  couple  of 
dirty  Jews. 


TRUTH  87 

1  What  can  you  expect  ?  They  are  all  like  that, '  said 
Nathan  to  David  and  Marc,  lowering  his  voice,  when  they 
were  some  thirty  paces  distant.  '  I  summoned  my  son-in- 
law  in  order  that  you  might  see  for  yourselves  what  are  the 
views  of  the  department — I  mean  of  the  upper  classes,  the 
deputies,  functionaries,  and  magistrates.  And  so,  how 
could  I  be  of  any  use  to  you  ?  Nobody  would  listen  to  me.' 

This  hypocritical  affectation  of  good  nature,  in  which  one 
detected  a  quiver  of  the  old  hereditary  racial  dread,  must 
have  seemed  cowardly  even  to  the  Baron  himself,  for  he 
presently  added :  '  Besides,  they  are  right ;  I  am  with  them ; 
France  before  everything  else,  with  her  glorious  past,  and 
the  ensemble  of  her  firm  traditions.  We  cannot  hand  her 
over  to  the  Freemasons  and  the  cosmopolites!  And  I  can- 
not let  you  go,  my  dear  David,  without  offering  you  a  word 
of  advice.  Have  nothing  to  do  with  that  affair;  you  would 
lose  everything  in  it,  you  would  be  wrecked  for  ever. 
Your  brother  will  get  out  of  the  mess  by  himself  if  he  is 
innocent.' 

Those  were  his  last  words;  he  shook  hands  with  them, 
and  quietly  walked  back,  while  they  in  silence  quitted  the 
grounds.  But  on  the  high  road  they  exchanged  glances 
almost  of  amusement,  however  much  they  might  be  disap- 
pointed, for  the  scene  in  which  they  had  participated  seemed 
to  them  quite  typical,  perfect  of  its  kind. 

'  Death  to  the  Jews!  '  exclaimed  Marc  facetiously. 

'Ah!  the  dirty  Jews!  '  David  responded  in  the  same  jest- 
ing way,  tinged  with  bitterness.  '  He  advised  me  to  forsake 
my  brother;  and  for  his  part  he  would  not  hesitate.  He 
has  thrown  his  brothers  over  plenty  of  times  already,  and 
he  will  do  so  again.  I  certainly  must  not  knock  for  help  at 
the  doors  of  my  famous  and  powerful  co-religionists.  They 
shiver  with  fear.' 

Several  more  days  now  went  by,  and,  however  prompt 
Magistrate  Daix  might  have  been  with  his  investigations,  he 
still  delayed  his  decision.  It  was  said  that  he  was  a  prey 
to  increasing  perplexity,  having  a  very  keen  professional 
mind,  and  too  much  intelligence  to  have  failed  to  divine  the 
truth;  but,  on  the  other  hand,  being  worried  by  public 
opinion  and  browbeaten  at  home  by  his  terrible  wife. 
Madame  Daix,  ugly,  coquettish,  and  very  pious — indeed, 
another  of  Father  Crabot's  dearly-loved  penitents  —  was 
consumed  by  ambition,  tortured  by  penurious  circum- 
stances, haunted  by  dreams  of  life  in  Paris,  finery,  and  a 


88  TRUTH 

social  position,  as  the  outcome  of  some  great  sensational 
'  affair. '  Such  an  '  affair  '  was  within  her  reach  now,  and 
she  never  ceased  repeating  to  her  husband  that  it  would  be 
idiotic  not  to  profit  by  the  opportunity;  for  if  he  were  so 
simple  as  to  release  that  dirty  Jew  they  would  end  by  dying 
in  a  garret.  Yet  Daix  struggled,  honest  still,  but  perturbed 
and  no  longer  hurrying,  clinging  in  fact  to  a  last  hope  that 
something  would  happen  to  enable  him  to  reconcile  his  in- 
terests with  his  duty.  This  fresh  delay  seemed  of  good 
augury  to  Marc,  who  was  well  aware  of  the  magistrate's 
torments,  but  who  still  remained  optimistically  convinced 
that  truth  possessed  an  irresistible  power,  to  which  all  ended 
by  submitting. 

Since  the  beginning  of  the  affair  he  often  went  to  Beau- 
mont of  a  morning  to  see  his  old  friend  Salvan,  the  Director 
of  the  Training  College.  He  found  him  well  posted  with 
information,  and  derived  also  a  good  deal  of  faith  and  cour- 
age from  what  he  said.  Besides,  that  college  where  he  had 
lived  three  years,  full  of  apostolic  enthusiasm,  had  remained 
dear  to  him.  It  stood  on  a  lonely  little  square  at  the  end 
of  the  Rue  de  la  Re"publique;  and  when  in  those  vacation 
days  he  reached  the  director's  quiet  private  room,  which 
looked  into  a  little  garden,  he  felt  himself  in  a  spot  where 
peace  and  happy  confidence  prevailed.  One  morning,  how- 
ever, when  he  called,  he  found  Salvan  full  of  grief  and 
irritation.  At  first  he  had  to  wait  in  the  ante-chamber,  for 
the  director  was  engaged  with  another  visitor;  but  the  lat- 
ter, a  fellow-schoolmaster  named  Doutrequin — a  man  with 
a  low  stubborn  brow,  broad  clean-shaven  cheeks,  and  the 
expression  of  a  magistrate  conscious  of  the  importance  of 
his  functions — soon  quitted  the  private  room,  and  Marc 
bowed  to  him  as  he  passed.  Then,  his  turn  having  come, 
he  was  astonished  by  the  agitation  of  Salvan,  who,  raising 
his  arms  to  the  ceiling,  greeted  him  with  the  exclamation : 
'  Well,  my  friend,  you  know  the  abominable  news,  don't 
you  ? ' 

Of  medium  height,  unassuming  but  energetic,  with  a 
good  round  face,  all  gaiety  and  frankness,  Salvan,  as  a  rule, 
turned  laughing  eyes  upon  those  to  whom  he  spoke.  But 
now  his  glance  was  ablaze  with  generous  anger. 

'  What  is  it  ?  '  Marc  inquired  anxiously. 

'  Ah,  so  you  do  not  know  yet  ?  Well,  my  friend,  those 
blackguards  have  dared  to  do  it.  Last  night  Daix  signed 
an  ordonnance  sending  Simon  for  trial ! ' 


TRUTH  89 

Marc  turned  pale,  but  remained  silent,  while  Salvan, 
pointing  to  a  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  which  lay 
open  on  his  table,  added:  '  Doutrequin,  who  just  went  out, 
left  me  that  filthy  rag  which  gives  the  news,  and  he  con- 
firmed its  accuracy,  on  the  authority  of  one  of  the  clerks 
at  the  Palace  of  Justice  whom  he  knows. ' 

Then,  taking  up  the  paper,  crumpling  it,  and  flinging  it 
into  a  corner  of  the  room  with  a  gesture  of  disgust,  Salvan 
continued:  'Ah!  the  filthy  rag!  If  iniquity  becomes  pos- 
sible it  is  because  that  paper  poisons  the  poor  and  lowly 
with  its  lies.  They  are  still  so  ignorant,  so  credulous,  so 
ready  to  believe  the  stories  that  flatter  their  base  passions. 
And  to  think  that  paper  first  acquired  a  circulation,  first 
found  its  way  into  all  hands,  by  belonging  to  no  party,  by 
remaining  neutral,  by  merely  printing  serial  stories,  matter- 
of-fact  accounts  of  current  events,  and  pleasant  articles 
popularising  general  knowledge.  By  that  means,  in  the 
course  of  years,  it  became  the  friend,  the  oracle,  the  daily 
pabulum  of  the  simple-minded  and  the  poor  who  cannot 
think  for  themselves.  But  now,  abusing  its  unique  position, 
its  immense  connection,  it  places  itself  in  the  pay  of  the 
parties  of  error  and  reaction,  makes  money  out  of  every 
piece  of  financial  roguery,  and  every  underhand  political 
plot.  It  is  of  secondary  importance  if  lies  and  insults  come 
from  the  fighting  journals  which  are  openly  reactionary. 
They  support  a  faction,  they  are  known,  and  when  one 
reads  them  one  is  prepared  for  what  they  may  say.  Thus 
La  Croix  de  Beaumont,  the  Church  party's  organ,  has  started 
an  abominable  campaign  against  our  friend  Simon,  "the 
Jew  schoolmaster  who  poisoned  and  murdered  little 
children,"  as  it  calls  him;  but  all  that  has  scarcely  moved 
me.  When,  however,  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  publishes  the 
ignoble  and  cowardly  articles  with  which  you  are  acquainted, 
those  charges  and  slanders  picked  up  in  the  gutter,  it  is  a 
crime.  To  penetrate  among  the  simple  by  affecting  bluff 
good  nature,  and  then  to  mingle  arsenic  with  every  dish,  to 
drive  the  masses  to  delirium  and  to  the  most  monstrous 
actions  in  order  to  increase  one's  sales,  I  know  of  no  greater 
crime!  And  make  no  mistake,  if  Daix  did  not  stay  further 
proceedings  it  was  because  public  opinion  weighed  on  him, 
poor  wretched  man  that  he  is,  afraid  to  be  honest,  and 
afflicted  too  with  a  wife  who  rots  everything.  And  public 
opinion,  you  know,  is  such  as  it  is  made  by  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais, which  is  the  prime  mover  in  the  iniquity,  for  it 


9O  TRUTH 

sows  imbecility  and  cruelty  in  the  minds  of  the  multitude, 
whence  now,  I  fear,  we  shall  see  a  detestable  harvest  rise! ' 

Salvan  sank  into  his  arm-chair  in  front  of  his  writing- 
table  with  an  expression  of  despairing  anguish  on  his  coun- 
tenance. And  silence  fell  while  Marc  walked  slowly  to  and 
fro,  overwhelmed  by  that  recapitulation  of  opinions  which 
he  himself  fully  shared.  At  last,  however,  he  stopped,  say- 
ing: 'All  the  same,  we  must  come  to  a  decision,  and  what 
shall  we  do  ?  Let  us  suppose  that  this  iniquitous  trial 
takes  place:  Simon  cannot  be  condemned,  it  would  be  too 
monstrous!  And,  surely,  we  shall  not  remain  with  our  arms 
folded.  When  this  terrible  blow  falls  on  poor  David  he 
will  want  to  act.  What  do  you  advise  us  to  do  ? ' 

'  Ah,  my  friend ! '  cried  Salvan,  '  how  willingly  I  would 
be  the  first  to  act,  if  you  could  give  me  the  means!  You 
readily  understand — do  you  not  ? — that  in  the  person  of  that 
unfortunate  Simon,  it  is  the  secular  schoolmaster  whom 
they  are  pursuing  and  whom  they  want  to  crush.  They 
regard  our  dear  training  school  as  a  nursery  of  godless,  un- 
patriotic men,  and  they  are  eager  to  destroy  it.  For  them 
I  am  a  kind  of  Satan,  engendering  atheist  missionaries,  to 
ruin  whom  has  long  been  their  dream.  What  a  triumph  for 
the  Church  gang  if  one  of  our  former  pupils  should  ascend 
the  scaffold,  convicted  of  an  infamous  crime!  Ah,  my  dear 
college,  my  poor  house,  which  I  should  like  to  see  so  use- 
ful, so  great,  so  necessary  for  the  destinies  of  the  country, 
through  what  a  terrible  time  will  it  now  have  to  pass!  ' 

All  Salvan 's  ardent  faith  in  the  good  work  he  did  was 
manifest  in  his  fervid  words.  Originally  a  schoolmaster, 
then  an  Elementary  Inspector,  a  militant  with  a  clear  mind 
devoted  to  knowledge  and  progress,  he  had  given  himself, 
on  his  appointment  as  Director  of  the  Training  College,  to 
one  sole  mission — that  of  preparing  efficient  schoolmasters 
ready  to  champion  experimental  science  and  freed  from  the 
bonds  of  Rome — men  who  would  at  last  teach  Truth  to  the 
people  and  make  it  capable  of  practising  Liberty,  Justice, 
and  Peace.  Therein  lay  the  whole  future  of  the  nation — 
the  future  indeed  of  all  mankind. 

'We  shall  all  group  ourselves  around  you,'  said  Marc, 
quivering;  '  we  will  not  suffer  you  to  be  stopped  in  your 
work,  the  most  urgent  and  loftiest  of  all  at  the  present 
time! ' 

Salvan  smiled  sadly.  '  Oh,  all,  my  friend !  How  many 
are  there  around  me  then  ?  There  is  yourself,  and  there 


TRUTH  91 

was  also  that  unfortunate  fellow,  Simon,  on  whom  I  greatly 
relied.  Again,  there  is  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  the  school- 
mistress at  your  village,  Jonville.  If  we  had  a  few  dozen 
teachers  like  her  we  might  expect  that  the  next  generation 
would  at  last  see  women,  wives  and  mothers,  delivered 
from  the  priests!  As  for  Ferou,  wretchedness  and  revolt 
are  driving  him  crazy,  bitterness  of  feeling  is  poisoning  his 
mind.  And  after  him  comes  the  mere  flock  of  indifferent, 
egotistical  folk,  stagnating  in  the  observance  of  routine,  and 
having  only  one  concern,  that  of  flattering  their  superiors  in 
order  to  secure  good  reports.  Then  too  there  are  the  rene- 
gades, those  who  have  gone  over  to  the  enemy,  as,  for  in- 
stance, that  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  who  alone  does  the 
work  of  ten  nuns,  and  who  behaves  so  shamefully  in  the 
Simon  affair.  I  was  forgetting  another,  Mignot,  one  of  our 
best  pupils,  who  is  certainly  not  a  bad  fellow,  but  whose 
mind  requires  forming,  liable  as  it  is  to  turn  out  good  or 
bad,  according  to  influence.' 

Salvan  was  growing  excited,  and  it  was  with  increased 
force  that  he  continued:  'But  a  case  that  one  may  well 
despair  of  is  that  of  Doutrequin,  whom  you  saw  leaving  me 
just  now.  A  schoolmaster  himself,  he  is  the  son  of  one;  in 
'70  he  was  fifteen,  and  three  years  later  he  entered  the  col- 
lege still  shuddering  at  the  thought  of  the  invasion,  and 
dreaming  of  revenge.  At  that  time  considerations  of 
patriotism  influenced  the  whole  of  our  educational  system 
in  France.  The  country  asked  us  merely  for  soldiers;  the 
army  was  like  a  temple,  a  sanctuary,  that  army  which  has 
remained  waiting  with  arms  grounded  for  thirty  years,  and 
which  has  devoured  thousands  upon  thousands  of  millions 
of  francs!  And  thus  we  have  been  turned  into  a  warrior 
France  instead  of  becoming  a  France  of  progress,  truth, 
justice,  and  peace,  such  as  alone  could  have  helped  to  save 
the  world.  And  now  one  sees  so-called  patriotism  changing 
Doutrequin,  once  a  good  Republican,  a  supporter  of  Gam- 
betta,  and  still  quite  recently  an  anti-clerical,  into  an  anti- 
semite,  even  as  it  will  end  by  changing  him  into  a  clerical 
altogether.  A  few  minutes  ago  he  favoured  me  with  an 
extraordinary  speech,  an  echo  of  the  articles  in  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais:  "  France  before  everything  else,"  said  he;  it 
was  necessary  to  drive  out  the  Jews,  to  make  a  fundamen- 
tal dogma  of  respect  for  the  army,  and  to  allow  more  liberty 
in  education,  by  which  he  meant  to  allow  the  religious  Con- 
gregations full  freedom  to  keep  the  masses  ignorant.  He 


92  TRUTH 

typifies  the  bankruptcy  of  the  earlier  patriotic  Republicans. 
Yet  he  is  a  worthy  man,  an  excellent  teacher,  with  five  as- 
sistants under  him,  and  the  best-kept  school  in  Beaumont. 
Two  of  his  sons  are  already  assistant-teachers  in  other 
schools  of  the  department,  and  I  know  that  they  share  their 
father's  views  and  even  exaggerate  them  as  young  men  are 
wont  to  do.  What  will  become  of  us  if  such  sentiments 
should  continue  to  animate  our  elementary  masters?  Ah! 
it  is  high  time  to  provide  others,  to  send  a  legion  of  men  of 
free  intelligence  to  teach  the  people  truth,  which  is  the  one 
sole  source  of  equity,  kindliness,  and  happiness! ' 

He  spoke  these  last  words  with  such  fervour  that  Marc 
smiled!  'Ah!  my  dear  master,  now  I  recognise  you,'  he 
said.  '  You  are  not  going  to  give  up  the  battle !  You  will 
end  by  winning  it,  for  you  have  truth  on  your  side.' 

Salvan  gaily  admitted  that  he  had  previously  given  way 
to  a  fit  of  discouragment.  The  infamous  proceedings  with 
which  Simon  was  threatened  had  unnerved  him.  'Advice  ?  ' 
he  repeated,  '  you  asked  me  for  advice  as  to  how  you  should 
act.  Let  us  see;  let  us  examine  the  situation  together.' 

There  was  Forbes,  the  Academy  Rector,1  gentle  and 
affable,  a  very  able  man  of  letters,  and  a  very  intelligent 
man  also.  But  he  was  deep  in  historical  studies,  covertly 
disdainful  of  the  present  age,  and  he  acted  as  a  mere  go- 
between  for  the  intercourse  of  the  Minister  of  Public  In- 
struction and  the  university  staff.  Then,  however,  came 
Le  Barazer,  the  Academy  Inspector;  and  Salvan's  hope  of 
future  victory  was  centred  in  that  sensible  and  courageous 
man,  who  was  also  a  skilful  politician.  The  experience  of 
Le  Barazer,  who  was  now  barely  fifty  years  of  age,  dated 
back  to  the  heroic  days  of  the  Republic,  when  the  necessity 
of  secular  and  compulsory  education  had  imposed  itself  as 
the  one  sole  possible  basis  of  a  free  and  just  democracy. 
A  worker  for  the  good  cause  from  the  very  outset,  Le  Bara- 
zer had  retained  all  his  hatred  of  clericalism,  convinced  that 
it  was  absolutely  necessary  to  drive  the  priests  from  the 
schools,  and  to  free  people's  minds  from  all  mendacious 
superstitions,  if  one  desired  that  the  nation  should  be  strong, 
well-instructed,  and  capable  of  acting  in  the  plenitude  of  its 
intelligence.  But  age,  the  obstacles  he  had  encountered, 
the  ever  tenacious  resistance  of  the  Church,  had  added 
great  prudence  and  tactical  skill  to  his  Republican  zeal. 

1  See  foot-note,  p.  44,  ante. 


TRUTH  93 

Nobody  knew  better  than  he  how  to  utilise  the  little  ground 
which  he  gained  each  day,  and  to  oppose  inertia  to  the  as- 
saults of  his  adversaries,  when  forcible  resistance  was 
impossible.  He  exerted  the  power  he  held  as  Academy 
Inspector  without  ever  entering  into  a  direct  contest  with 
anybody,  either  the  Prefect  or  the  Deputies  or  the  Senators 
of  the  department,  though,  on  the  other  hand,  he  refused 
to  yield  so  long  as  his  views  were  not  adopted. 

It  was  thanks  to  him  that  Salvan,  although  violently  at- 
tacked by  the  clerical  faction,  was  able  to  continue  his  work 
of  regeneration,  the  renewing  of  the  personnel  of  the  elemen- 
tary schoolmasters;  and  doubtless  he  alone  could  in  a 
measure  defend  Simon  against  his  subordinate,  Inspector 
Mauraisin.  For  that  handsome  gentleman  also  had  to  be 
reckoned  with,  and  he  was  likely  to  prove  ferocious,  a  traitor 
to  the  university  cause,  and  an  accomplice  of  the  Congre- 
gations, since  he  had  come  to  the  conclusion  that  the 
Church  would  prove  victorious  in  the  affair,  and  pay  a 
higher  reward  than  the  other  side  for  the  services  rendered 
to  it. 

'  Have  you  heard  of  his  evidence  ? '  Salvan  continued. 
'  It  appears  that  he  said  everything  he  could  against  Simon 
to  Daix.  To  think  that  the  inspection  of  our  schools  is 
confided  to  Jesuits  of  his  stamp!  It  is  the  same  with  that 
fellow,  Depinvilliers,  the  principal  of  the  Lyce"e  '  of  Beau- 
mont, who  attends  Mass  at  St.  Maxence  every  Sunday  with 
his  wife  and  his  two  ugly  daughters.  Opinions  are  free,  of 
course;  but  if  Depinvilliers  is  free  to  go  to  Mass,  he  ought 
not  to  be  free  to  hand  one  of  our  establishments  of  second- 
ary education  over  to  the  Jesuits.  Father  Crabot  reigns  at 
our  Lyce"e  as  he  reigns  at  the  College  of  Valmarie.  Ah! 
the  bitter  irony  of  it  when  one  thinks  that  this  secular 
Lyce'e,  this  Republican  Lyce"e,  which  I  sometimes  hear 
called  the  rival  of  the  Jesuit  College,  is  in  reality  a  mere 
branch  of  it!  Ah!  our  Republic  does  fine  work,  it  places 
its  interests  in  very  trusty  and  loyal  hands!  I  can  well 
understand  Mauraisin  working  for  the  other  side,  which  is 
ever  active  and  which  pays  its  supporters  well!  ' 

Then,  coming  to  the  point,  Salvan  added:  'I  tell  you 
what  I  will  do.  I  will  see  Le  Barazer.  Do  not  go  to  him 
yourself.  It  is  better  that  any  application  should  come 
from  me,  whom  he  supports  so  bravely.  And  it  is  useless 

1 A  government  secondary  college. 


94  TRUTH 

to  hustle  him,  he  will  act  at  the  moment  he  thinks  fit,  and 
with  such  means  as  are  at  his  disposal.  He  will  certainly 
keep  Mauraisin  quiet,  if  he  can  render  Simon  no  more 
direct  service.  .  .  .  But  what  I  advise  you  to  do  is  to 
see  Lemarrois,  our  Mayor  and  Deputy.  You  know  him 
well,  do  you  not  ?  He  was  a  friend  of  Berthereau,  your 
wife's  father.  He  may  be  useful  to  you.' 

Marc  then  took  leave,  and  on  reaching  the  street  decided 
to  call  on  Lemarrois  at  once.  Eleven  o'clock  was  striking, 
and  he  would  doubtless  find  him  at  home.  Turning,  there- 
fore, into  the  Rue  Gambetta,  a  thoroughfare  running  from 
the  Lyce"e  to  the  Hotel  de  Ville,  and  thus  cutting  Beaumont 
in  halves,  he  made  his  way  to  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  the 
famous  promenade  of  the  town,  which  also  traversed  it,  but 
from  the  Prefecture  to  the  Cathedral.  In  that  very  avenue, 
in  the  midst  of  the  aristocratic  quarter,  Lemarrois  owned  a 
luxurious  house,  where  his  beautiful  wife,  a  Parisienne, 
often  gave  entertainments.  Wealthy  and  already  of  repute 
in  his  profession,  he  had  brought  her  from  Paris  at  the  time 
when  he  had  returned  to  his  native  place  to  practise  there 
and  satisfy  his  political  ambition.  While  he  was  yet  a 
medical  student,  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of  Gam- 
betta, with  whom  intimacy  had  followed,  for  he  showed 
much  enthusiasm  and  firm  Republicanism,  and  became  in- 
deed one  of  the  great  man's  favourite  disciples.  Thus  he 
was  regarded  at  Beaumont  as  a  pillar  of  the  middle-class 
Republic.  And  not  only  was  he  the  husband  of  an  amiable 
wife,  but,  intelligent  and  good-hearted,  he  was  personally 
very  popular  with  the  poor,  whom  he  attended  gratuitously. 
His  political  advancement  had  been  rapid ;  first  he  had  be- 
come municipal  councillor,  then  a  departmental  councillor, 
then  deputy  and  mayor.  For  twelve  years  now  he  had  been 
installed  in  the  latter  functions,  and  was  still  the  uncontested 
master  of  the  town  and  the  chief  of  the  departmental  parlia- 
mentary contingent,  though  the  latter  included  some  re- 
actionary deputies. 

Directly  he  saw  Marc  enter  his  study,  a  spacious  room 
furnished  with  chastened  luxury,  he  went  towards  him  with 
both  hands  outstretched,  and  an  expression  of  smiling  sym- 
pathy on  his  face.  Dark,  with  scarcely  a  grey  hair,  though 
he  was  nearly  fifty,  he  had  a  big  head,  with  quick,  bright 
eyes,  and  a  profile  fit  for  a  medal. 

'Ah!  my  good  fellow,  I  was  astonished  not  to  see  you, 
and  I  can  guess  what  motive  has  brought  you  to-day! 


TRUTH  95 

What  an  abominable  business,  is  it  not  ?  That  unfortunate 
Simon  is  innocent,  that  is  certain  from  the  frantic  way  in 
which  he  is  being  charged.  I  am  on  your  side,  you  know 
— on  your  side  with  all  my  heart! ' 

Pleased  by  this  reception,  cheered  at  meeting  a  just  man, 
Marc  quickly  explained  to  him  that  he  came  to  solicit  his 
influential  help.  There  was  surely  something  to  be  done. 
One  could  not  allow  an  innocent  man  to  be  tried  and  per- 
haps condemned. 

But  Lemarrois  was  already  raising  his  arms  to  heaven. 
'Do  something,  no  doubt,  no  doubt!'  said  he.  'Only, 
what  can  one  do  against  public  opinion  when  the  whole 
department  is  already  stirred  up  ?  As  you  must  know,  the 
political  situation  is  becoming  more  and  more  difficult. 
And  the  general  elections  will  take  place  next  May — that 
is,  in  scarcely  nine  months'  time!  Do  you  not  understand 
to  what  extreme  prudence  we  are  reduced  ?  for  we  must  not 
expose  the  Republic  to  the  risk  of  a  check.' 

He  had  seated  himself  and  his  face  became  anxious  while, 
toying  with  a  large  paper-knife,  he  expressed  his  fears  about 
the  agitated  condition  of  the  department,  in  which  the 
Socialists  were  actively  bestirring  themselves,  and  gaining 
ground.  He  did  not  fear  the  election  of  any  of  them  as  yet, 
for  none  could  command  a  sufficient  majority;  but  if  two 
Reactionaries,  one  of  whom  was  Sanglebceuf,  the  so-called 
rallit,  had  been  returned  at  the  last  elections,  it  was  by 
reason  of  a  diversion  created  by  the  Socialists.  Each  time 
that  he  pronounced  that  word  '  Socialists  '  it  was  with  a  kind 
of  aggressive  bitterness,  in  which  one  could  detect  the  fear 
and  anger  of  the  middle-class  Republic,  which  now  pos- 
sessed power,  in  presence  of  the  slow  but  irresistible  use  of 
the  Socialist  Republic  which  wished  to  possess  it. 

'  So  how  can  I  help  you,  my  good  fellow  ? '  he  continued; 
'  I  am  bound  hand  and  foot,  for  we  have  to  reckon  with 
public  opinion.  I  don't  refer  to  myself, — I  am  certain  of  re- 
election,— but  I  have  to  think  of  my  colleagues  whom  I  must 
not  leave  wounded  on  the  battle-field.  If  it  were  merely  a 
question  of  my  own  seat  I  would  sacrifice  it  at  once  so  as  to 
act  solely  in  accordance  with  my  conscience;  but  the  Re- 
public is  at  stake  and  we  must  not  allow  it  to  be  defeated.' 

Then  he  complained  of  the  Prefect  of  the  department, 
that  handsome,  well-groomed  Hennebise,  who  sported 
glasses  and  arranged  his  hair  so  carefully.  He  gave  no 
help  whatever;  for  being  perpetually  afraid  of  getting  into 


96  TRUTH 

difficulties  with  his  Minister  or  the  Jesuits,  he  was  careful 
to  offend  neither.  He  probably  had  secret  leanings  towards 
the  priests  and  the  military  set,  and  it  would  be  necessary 
to  watch  him,  while  pursuing,  however,  a  course  of  diplo- 
macy and  compromise  similar  to  his  own. 

'  Briefly,'  said  Lemarrois,  '  you  see  me  in  despair,  reduced 
to  measure  every  step  and  weigh  every  word  for  the  next 
nine  months  under  penalty  of  being  hissed  by  the  readers 
of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais,  to  the  great  delight  of  the  clerical 
faction.  This  Simon  affair  falls  on  us  at  a  most  unfavour- 
able moment.  If  the  elections  were  not  so  near,  I  would 
march  with  you  at  once.' 

Then,  quite  abruptly,  he,  usually'  so  calm,  lost  his 
temper:  '  To  make  matters  worse,  Simon  not  only  saddles 
us  with  this  business  at  a  difficult  moment,  but  he  chooses 
Delbos  as  his  advocate,  Delbos  the  Socialist,  who  is  the  btte 
noire  of  all  right-thinking  people.  Frankly,  that  is  the 
climax;  Simon  must  be  really  desirous  of  seeing  himself 
condemned.' 

Marc  had  remained  listening,  pained  at  heart,  feeling 
that  another  of  his  illusions  was  taking  flight.  Yet  he  knew 
Lemarrois  to  be  honest,  and  he  had  seen  him  give  many 
proofs  of  firm  Republican  faith. 

'  But  Delbos  is  very  talented, '  the  young  man  answered, 
'  and  if  poor  Simon  chose  him,  it  was  because,  like  all  of 
us,  he  considered  him  to  be  the  man  of  the  situation.  Be- 
sides, it  is  not  certain  that  another  advocate  would  have 
accepted  the  brief.  It  is  a  frightful  moment;  people  are 
becoming  cowards.' 

That  word  must  have  seemed  to  Lemarrois  like  a  smack. 
He  made  a  quick  gesture,  but  he  evinced  no  anger — in- 
deed, he  began  to  smile.  '  You  consider  me  very  cautious, 
do  you  not,  my  young  friend  ?  '  he  said.  '  When  you  get 
older  you  will  see  that  it  is  not  always  easy  in  politics  to 
behave  in  accordance  with  one's  own  convictions.  But 
why  do  you  not  apply  to  my  colleague  Marcilly,  your  young 
deputy,  the  favourite  and  the  hope  of  all  the  young  intel- 
lectuals of  the  department  ?  I  have  become  an  old,  spent, 
prudent  hack — that  's  understood.  But  Marcilly,  whose 
mind  is  so  free  and  broad,  will  certainly  place  himself  at 
your  head.  Go  to  see  him,  go  to  see  him.' 

Then,  having  escorted  Marc  to  the  landing,  he  again 
pressed  his  hands,  promising  that  he  would  help  him  with 
all  his  power,  when  circumstances  should  permit  it. 


TRUTH  97 

Indeed,  thought  Marc,  why  should  he  not  go  to  Marcilly  ? 
The  latter  also  lived  in  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  and  it  was 
not  yet  noon.  'The  young  schoolmaster  was  entitled  to  call 
on  him,  as  he  had  acted,  very  discreetly,  as  one  of  his  elec- 
toral canvassers,  being  full  of  enthusiasm  for  a  candidate 
who  was  so  sympathetic  and  possessed  of  such  high  literary 
culture.  Born  at  Jonville,  Marcilly  had  distinguished  him- 
self as  a  pupil  of  the  Training  College,  and  had  subsequently 
held  a  professorship  at  the  Faculty  of  Beaumont,  which 
post  he  had  resigned  in  order  to  become  a  parliamentary 
candidate.  Short,  fair,  and  refined  in  appearance,  with  an 
amiable  and  ever-smiling  face,  he  played  havoc  with  wo- 
men's hearts,  and  even  won  the  partiality  of  men,  thanks  to 
his  rare  skill  in  saying  the  right  word  to  each,  and  in  evinc- 
ing all  necessary  obligingness.  To  the  younger  members  of 
the  electorate  he  endeared  himself  by  his  own  comparative 
youth,  for  he  was  only  thirty-two,  and  by  the  happy  and 
elegant  form  of  his  speeches,  in  which  he  displayed  much 
broadness  of  mind  and  knowledge  of  men  and  things.  It 
was  felt  at  the  time  of  his  election  that  one  would  at  last 
have  a  really  young  deputy  on  whom  one  might  rely.  He 
would  renew  the  science  of  politics,  infuse  into  it  the  blood 
of  the  rising  generations,  and  adorn  it  with  faultless  lan- 
guage, all  the  delightful  bloom  of  sound  literature.  Indeed, 
for  three  years  past  Marcilly  had  been  acquiring  a  more 
and  more  important  position  in  the  Chamber.  His  credit 
constantly  increased,  and,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  he  was 
only  two  and  thirty,  he  had  already  been  spoken  of  for  a 
ministerial  portfolio.  It  was  certain  also  that  if  he  attended 
to  his  constituents'  affairs  with  untiring  complaisance,  he 
pushed  on  his  own  still  more  successfully,  profiting  by  every 
circumstance  to  rise  a  little  higher,  but  doing  so  in  such  a 
natural  and  easy  way  that  nobody  had  yet  regarded  him  as 
a  mere  Arriviste,  one  of  those  representatives  of  hot,  im- 
patient youth,  eager  for  enjoyment  and  power  in  every 
form.  His  rooms  were  furnished  and  ornamented  in  a 
delicate  style,  and  he  received  Marc  like  a  comrade.  He 
spoke  of  Simon,  too,  immediately,  in  a  voice  full  of  emo- 
tion, saying  how  deeply  he  was  affected  by  the  poor  man's 
fate.  Of  course  he  did  not  refuse  to  help  him,  he  would 
speak  in  his  favour,  he  would  see  people  who  might  be  use- 
ful. But  whatever  might  be  his  graciousness,  he  ended  by 
recommending  extreme  prudence  on  account  of  the  proxim- 
ity of  the  elections.  If  his  manners  were  more  caressing, 


98  TRUTH 

his  answer  was  much  the  same  as  Lemarrois' ;  he  was 
secretly  resolved  to  do  nothing  for  fear  of  compromising  the 
Republican  party.  The  two  schools  might  differ  in  outward 
appearance  —  that  of  Lemarrois  being  older  and  rougher  in 
its  ways;  that  of  Marcilly,  younger  and  more  prodigal  of 
compliments  —  but  both  were  determined  to  abandon  no 
shred  of  the  power  they  held.  And  now,  for  the  first  time, 
Marc  felt  that  Marcilly  might  be  merely  an  Arriviste  in  his 
flower,  resolved  to  follow  his  own  course  and  bear  his  fruit. 
Nevertheless,  on  taking  leave,  it  became  necessary  to  thank 
him,  for  with  a  flow  of  gentle  words  the  young  deputy 
repeated  that  he  was  at  his  visitor's  disposal  and  would 
assuredly  give  some  help. 

Marc  was  full  of  fear  and  anxiety  when  he  returned  to 
Maillebois  that  day.  Calling  on  the  Lehmanns  in  the  after- 
noon, he  found  the  family  in  desolation.  They  had  so 
confidently  expected  that  further  proceedings  would  be 
abandoned.  David,  who  was  present,  quite  upset  by  the 
bad  news,  still  tried  to  believe  in  the  possibility  of  some 
miracle  which  would  prevent  that  iniquitous  trial  from 
taking  place.  But,  on  the  morrow,  things  began  to  move 
quickly.  The  Indictment  Chamber l  seemed  to  be  in  a 
singular  hurry,  for,  the  case  was  set  down  for  hearing  at  the 
earliest  assizes,  those  of  October.  In  presence  of  the  inevi- 
table, David,  with  his  ardent  faith  in  his  brother's  innocence, 
recovered  all  his  courage,  all  that  strength  and  firmness  of 
mind  which  were  to  make  him  a  hero.  The  trial  would 
have  to  take  place ;  it  could  not  be  avoided ;  but  where  was 
the  jury  that  would  dare  to  convict  Simon  when  no  proofs 
were  forthcoming  ?  The  prisoner  never  varied  in  his  cry 
of  innocence;  and  the  calmness  with  which  he  waited,  the 
confidence  in  speedy  release  which  he  expressed  to  his 
brother  at  each  visit,  greatly  fortified  the  latter.  At  the 
Lehmanns'  house,  as  the  expectations  of  acquittal  grew 
stronger,  plans  were  formed,  and  Madame  Simon  talked  of 
a  month's  rest  which  she,  her  husband,  and  the  children 
would  afterwards  take  in  Provence,  where  they  had  some 
friends.  It  was  in  the  midst  of  this  fresh  spell  of  hopeful- 
ness that  David  one  morning  asked  Marc  to  go  with  him  to 
Beaumont  in  order  that  they  might  discuss  the  affair  with 
Delbos,  Simon's  counsel. 

The  young  advocate  resided  in  the  Rue  Fontanier,  in  the 

1  A  tribunal  discharging  the  duties  of  a  grand  jury. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  99 

popular  trading  quarter  of  the  town.  The  son  of  a  peasant 
of  the  environs,  he  had  studied  law  in  Paris,  where  for  a 
short  time  he  had  frequented  many  young  men  of  Socialist 
views.  But  hitherto,  for  lack  of  one  of  those  great  causes 
which  class  a  man,  he  had  not  bound  himself  to  any  party. 
In  accepting  a  brief  in  Simon's  case,  that  case  which  made 
his  colleagues  of  the  bar  tremble,  he  had  decided  his  future. 
He  studied  it  and  became  impassioned  on  finding  himself  in 
presence  of  all  the  public  powers,  all  the  forces  of  reaction, 
which,  in  order  to  save  the  old  rotten  framework  of  society 
from  destruction,  were  coalescing  and  striving  to  ruin  a  poor 
and  guiltless  man.  And  the  rise  of  militant  Socialism  was 
at  the  end  of  it  all,  the  salvation  of  the  country  by  the  new 
force  of  which  the  freed  masses  now  disposed. 

'  Well,  so  there  is  to  be  a  battle! '  Delbos  exclaimed  gaily, 
when  he  received  his  visitors  in  his  little  study,  littered  with 
books  and  papers.  'Ah!  I  cannot  tell  if  we  shall  conquer, 
but  at  all  events  we  shall  do  the  others  some  harm.' 

Short,  dark,  and  wiry,  with  eyes  of  fire  and  tongue  of 
flame,  he  possessed  an  admirable  voice  and  an  extraordinary 
gift  of  eloquence,  at  once  enthusiastic,  logical,  and  precise. 
David,  however,  was  struck  by  his  apparent  doubt  of  vic- 
tory and  repeated  what  he  had  been  saying  for  a  week  past: 
'Conquer?  Oh!  we  shall  certainly  do  so.  Where  can  a 
jury  be  found  that  would  dare  to  convict  my  brother  with- 
out proofs  ? ' 

Delbos  looked  at  him,  and  then  began  to  laugh,  saying: 
'  Let  us  go  down  into  the  street,  my  poor  friend,  and  the 
first  twelve  citizens  we  get  together  will  spit  in  your  face 
and  call  you  a  dirty  Jew.  You  don't  read  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais,  and  you  are  ignorant  of  the  beautiful  souls  and 
minds  of  your  contemporaries.  But  all  allusions  would  be 
dangerous  and  culpable:  is  that  not  so,  Monsieur  Froment? ' 

Then,  as  Marc  spoke  of  the  disappointment  he  had  ex- 
perienced when  visiting  influential  persons,  Delbos,  wishing 
to  free  his  client's  brother  of  his  erroneous  views,  insisted 
on  the  subject.  No  doubt  they  had  a  friend  in  Salvan, 
but  he  was  sorely  threatened,  and,  instead  of  defending 
others,  needed  to  be  defended  himself.  Then  Le  Barazer 
would  sacrifice  something  to  the  fire,  suffering  Simon  to  go 
to  his  fate  and  reserving  all  his  authority  and  influence  for 
the  defence  of  secular  education.  Next  Lemarrois,  the 
once  incorruptible  Republican,  was  unknowingly  on  that 
path  of  disquietude  which  leads  straight  to  reaction. 


IOO  TRUTH 

Then  came  Marcilly,  at  the  mention  of  whose  name  Delbos 
was  all  afire.  No  trust  whatever  was  to  be  placed  in  him, 
he  had  always  lied,  and  to-morrow  he  would  become  a  rene- 
gade and  a  traitor.  Indeed,  one  would  obtain  only  fair 
words  from  all  those  folks ;  nothing  in  the  way  of  deeds  was 
to  be  expected,  neither  an  act  of  frankness  nor  one  of 
courage. 

Having  thus  judged  the  university  men  and  the  politicians, 
Delbos  passed  to  the  judicial  world.  He  was  convinced 
that  Magistrate  Daix  had  suspected  the  truth,  but  had  set  it 
on  one  side,  terrified  as  he  was  by  the  perpetual  quarrels 
which  his  wife  stirred  up  in  order  to  prevent  him  from  releas- 
ing the  dirty  Jew.  And  in  acting  as  he  had  done  he  had 
surely  experienced  great  perturbation  of  conscience,  for  at 
bottom  he  was  honest.  But,  apart  from  him,  one  had  to 
fear  the  Procureur  de  la  Re"publique,  the  frisky  Raoul  de 
La  Bissoniere,  whose  speech  to  the  jury  would  certainly 
prove  ferocious.  Vain  of  his  petty  noblesse,  it  seemed  to  La 
Bissoniere  great  condescension  on  his  part  to  serve  the  Re- 
public, and  he  meant  to  be  rewarded  for  doing  so  by  rapid 
advancement,  which  he  hastened  as  best  he  could,  fawning 
on  both  the  Government  and  the  Congregations,  zealous 
too  as  a  patriot  and  an  anti-semite.  As  for  President  Grag- 
non,  in  him  one  would  have  a  jovial  judge,  a  hard  drinker, 
a  keen  sportsman,  fond  of  petticoats,  addicted  to  witticisms, 
affecting  brusqueness,  not  certainly  sceptical,  without  soul 
or  faith,  and  at  the  mercy  of  the  stronger  side.  Finally, 
there  would  be  the  jury,  the  composition  of  which  it  was 
easy  to  foresee.  One  might  expect  a  few  representatives  of 
the  manufacturing  and  trading  classes,  some  professional 
men,  clerks,  and  retired  officers,  and  all  would  have 
poisoned  minds,  all  would  tremble  for  their  skins,  and 
yield  to  the  general  dementia. 

'  So,  you  see,'  Delbos  concluded  bitterly,  '  your  brother, 
forsaken  by  everybody  since  he  so  awkwardly  requires  help 
when  fear  respecting  the  result  of  the  elections  paralyses 
even  the  friends  of  truth  and  justice,  will  have  a  fine  collec- 
tion of  stupidity,  egotism,  and  cowardice  to  judge  him.' 
And,  as  David  preserved  dolorous  silence,  he  added:  '  Oh! 
we  shall  not  allow  ourselves  to  be  devoured  without  raising 
an  outcry.  But  I  prefer  to  show  you  things  as  they  are. 
And  now  let  us  examine  the  position  with  respect  to  the 
case  itself.' 

He  could  tell  what  views  would  be  set  forth  by  the  prose- 


TRUTH  IOI 

cution.  Pressure  had  been  brought  to  bear  on  the  witnesses 
from  all  sides.  Quite  apart  from  public  opinion  in  the 
midst  of  whose  vitiated  atmosphere  they  lived,  they  were 
certainly  being  worked  upon  by  occult  powers,  caught  in  a 
skilfully  contrived  skein  of  daily  exhortations  which  dictated 
to  them  the  statements  they  were  to  make.  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  now  declared  peremptorily  that  she  had  heard 
Simon  come  home  at  a  quarter  to  eleven  o'clock  on  the 
night  of  the  crime.  Even  Mignot  now  fancied  that  he  had 
heard  footsteps  and  voices  about  the  same  hour.  Then  in- 
fluence must  have  been  exercised  on  Simon's  pupils,  the 
Bongard,  Doloir,  Savin,  and  Milhomme  children,  with  the 
object  of  extracting  from  them  statements  unfavourable  to 
the  prisoner.  Little  Sebastien  Milhomme,  for  instance, 
had  now  declared,  while  sobbing  distressfully,  that  he  had 
never  seen  his  cousin  Victor  with  any  copy-slip  coming 
from  the  Brothers'  school;  and  apropos  of  that  affair, 
people  spoke  of  an  unexpected  visit  that  Madame  Edouard 
Milhomme  had  lately  received  from  a  distant  cousin,  General 
Jarousse,  who  commanded  the  division  garrisoned  at  Beau- 
mont. He  had  never  previously  confessed  his  relationship 
to  the  lady  stationer,  but  had  suddenly  remembered  it,  and 
paid  her  that  friendly  call. 

Moreover,  the  prosecution  insisted  on  the  failure  of  all 
efforts  to  find  any  tramp  who  might  have  committed  the 
crime,  as  had  been  originally  suspected.  It  also  asserted 
that  it  had  vainly  sought  any  witness,  guard,  or  wayfarer, 
who  had  seen  Simon  returning  from  Beaumont  to  Maillebois 
on  foot.  On  the  other  hand,  it  had  failed  to  establish  that 
he  had  returned  by  train,  for  no  railway  employe"  remem- 
bered having  seen  him;  besides  which  several  return  tickets 
had  not  been  given  up  on  the  night  of  the  crime.  But  it 
seemed  that  the  evidence  of  Brother  Fulgence  and  Father 
Philibin  would  be  very  grave,  particularly  that  of  the  latter, 
who  would  prove  that  the  copy-slip  connected  with  the 
crime  had  really  belonged  to  Simon's  school.  And  to  make 
things  complete,  two  handwriting  experts  of  the  prosecu- 
tion, Masters  Badoche  and  Trabut,  had  declared  that  they 
fully  recognised  Simon's  initials,  an  E  and  an  S  intertwined, 
in  the  faint  and  virtually  illegible  paraph  on  the  slip. 

Thus  one  could  divine  the  form  which  the  '  act  of  accusa- 
tion '  or  indictment  would  take.  It  would  set  forth  that 
Simon  lied,  and  that  he  had  assuredly  returned  from  Beau- 
mont by  train,  and  must  have  reached  his  home  at  the  very 


102  TRUTH 

time  when  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  declared  that  she  had 
heard  him.  On  the  other  hand  it  seemed  certain  that  little 
Zephirin,  after  returning  from  the  Capuchin  Chapel  at  ten 
o'clock,  had  not  gone  to  bed  immediately,  but  had  amused 
himself  by  arranging  some  religious  pictures  on  his  table,  in 
such  wise  that  one  might  say  the  crime  had  been  committed 
between  a  quarter  to  eleven  and  eleven  o'clock. 

It  was  easy  to  picture  the  scene.  Simon,  seeing  a  light, 
had  entered  his  nephew's  room,  and  found  him  there,  about 
to  get  into  bed.  Arriving  from  a  banquet,  heated  by  wine, 
he  had  yielded  to  a  fit  of  abominable  madness.  Moreover, 
he  hated  the  child,  he  was  infuriated  by  the  fact  that  he 
was  a  Catholic,  and  thus  it  was  allowable  to  hint  at  the  pos- 
sibility of  ritual  crime,  at  the  horrible  legend  fixed  in  the 
minds  of  the  masses.  But,  at  all  events,  there  certainly 
had  been  abomination;  and  the  maddened  criminal,  after 
thrusting  the  first  thing  he  had  at  hand  into  the  victim's 
mouth  in  order  to  stifle  his  cries,  had  lost  his  head,  and, 
frantic  with  terror,  had  strangled  the  lad  when  the  impro- 
vised gag  fell  out  and  the  cries  began  afresh,  more  terrible 
than  ever.  It  was  not  so  easy  to  explain  how  it  happened 
that  the  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  and  the  copy-slip 
had  been  mingled  together.  Doubtless  the  newspaper  had 
been  in  Simon's  pocket,  for  the  boy  would  not  have  had 
one  in  his  possession.  As  for  the  copy-slip,  the  prosecution, 
after  hesitating  slightly,  had  adopted  the  view  that  this  also 
must  have  been  in  Simon's  pocket,  for  the  report  of  the 
handwriting  experts  identifying  the  initials  showed  that  it 
belonged  to  him. 

The  crime  accomplished,  the  rest  was  easily  explained. 
Simon  left  the  body  on  the  floor,  touched  nothing  in  the 
room,  but  contented  himself  with  opening  the  window 
widely  in  order  to  make  it  appear  that  the  murderer  had 
come  from  outside.  In  one  respect  he  had  blundered 
badly,  he  had  not  thought  of  picking  up  and  destroying  the 
newspaper  and  the  copy-slip,  which  had  rolled  to  the  foot 
of  the  bed.  This  showed  how  great  had  been  his  perturba- 
tion. And,  doubtless,  he  had  not  immediately  joined  his 
wife,  as  she  fixed  the  hour  of  his  return  at  twenty  minutes 
to  twelve.  In  all  probability  he  had  spent  some  time  seated 
on  the  stairs,  trying  to  recover  his  calmness.  The  prosecu- 
tion did  not  go  so  far  as  to  charge  Madame  Simon  with 
complicity;  nevertheless,  it  gave  out  that  she  did  not  tell 
the  truth  when  she  spoke  of  the  smiling  quietude,  the  gay 


TRUTH  103 

affection  displayed  by  her  husband  that  night ;  and  a  proof 
of  her  disregard  for  veracity  was  to  be  found  in  the  evi- 
dence of  Mignot,  who  was  astonished  that  his  principal 
should  have  risen  so  late  the  next  morning,  and  who  asserted 
that  he  had  found  him  pale  and  shivering,  scarce  able  to 
walk,  when  he  went  to  tell  him  the  dreadful  tidings. 
Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  Brother  Fulgence,  and  Father 
Philibin  agreed  that  Simon  had  almost  fainted  at  the  sight 
of  the  little  body,  although  in  other  respects  he  showed  the 
most  revolting  dryness  of  heart.  And  in  this  again  was 
there  not  an  overwhelming  proof  of  culpability  ?  The 
wretched  man's  guilt  could  be  doubted  by  none. 

Having  thus  explained  the  views  of  the  prosecution,  Del- 
bos  resumed:  '  The  moral  impossibilities  are  gross;  no  man 
of  good  sense  will  think  Simon  guilty,  and,  besides,  there 
are  several  material  improbabilities.  But  this  frightful  tale 
is  sufficiently  well  constructed  to  seize  hold  of  the  masses 
and  to  become  one  of  those  legendary  fables  which  acquire 
the  force  of  truth.  Our  weakness  proceeds  from  the  fact 
that,  not  knowing  the  real  story,  we  cannot  set  it  up  in 
opposition  to  the  legend  now  being  forged.  The  theory  of 
a  night  prowler,  to  which  you  seem  to  cling,  can  only  serve 
to  cast  a  little  doubt  into  the  minds  of  the  jury;  for  there  are 
serious  objections  to  it.  And  so  whom  can  we  accuse,  and 
what  shall  my  system  of  defence  be  ? ' 

At  this  Marc,  hitherto  very  attentive  and  silent,  could 
not  restrain  himself  from  giving  expression  to  the  conviction 
which  had  slowly  gathered  in  his  mind:  'But  there  is  no 
doubt  at  all  for  me;  the  criminal  was  one  of  the  Brothers! ' 

Delbos,  well  pleased  with  the  answer,  and  signifying  his 
approval  by  an  energetic  gesture,  then  exclaimed:  '  Quite  so. 
My  own  conviction  is  the  same.  The  more  I  study  the  case 
the  more  I  am  led  to  that  conclusion  as  being  the  only  one 
possible.'  And  as  David  anxiously  shook  his  head,  he 
added:  'Yes,  I  know;  it  seems  to  you  that  your  brother's 
position  would  be  very  dangerous  if  one  of  those  Ignoran- 
tines  were  accused  without  decisive  proof.  And  you  are 
certainly  right.  Nevertheless,  I  have  to  plead,  and  the 
best  way  to  prove  your  brother's  innocence  is  to  demonstrate 
who  the  guilty  man  must  be.  Is  it  not  so  ?  You  will  tell 
me  that  the  question  becomes  one  of  ascertaining  who  that 
man  is,  and  for  that  very  reason  I  wish  to  go  into  the  mat- 
ter with  you  thoroughly.' 

The  discussion  continued,  and  Marc  recapitulated  the 


104  TRUTH 

reasons  which  made  him  believe  the  murderer  to  be  one  of 
the  Brothers.  First,  the  copy-slip  had  come  from  this 
school;  that  was  virtually  proved  by  what  had  occurred  at 
the  Milhommes.  Then  there  was  the  initialling  of  the  slip, 
and  the  corner  of  it  which  had  been  torn  away,  in  which  clue 
the  solution  of  the  enigma  probably  lurked.  A  decisive 
moral  proof  was  the  extraordinary  zeal  the  Congregations 
displayed  in  denouncing  Simon.  They  would  not  have 
stirred  up  heaven  and  earth  in  this  fashion  if  they  had  not 
found  it  necessary  to  save  some  black  sheep;  though  of 
course  they  also  hoped  to  crush  the  secular  schools  and  to 
insure  the  triumph  of  the  Church.  Moreover,  there  were 
features  in  the  crime  which  suggested  that  it  could  only 
have  been  perpetrated  by  some  sly,  cruel,  bestial  frock- 
wearer.  But  unfortunately  arguments  did  not  suffice,  and 
Marc  was  in  despair  that  his  investigations  had  been 
thwarted  by  a  combination  of  obscurity,  confusion,  and  dread 
which  artful,  invisible  hands  seemed  to  increase  each  day. 

'  Come,'  interrupted  Delbos,  '  you  suspect  neither  Brother 
Fulgence  nor  Father  Philibin,  eh  ? ' 

'Oh  no!'  Marc  answered,  'I  saw  them  near  the  body 
when  the  crime  was  discovered.  Brother  Fulgence  cer- 
tainly returned  to  his  school  on  quitting  the  Capuchin 
Chapel  on  the  Thursday  evening.  Besides,  though  he  is 
vain  and  crazy,  I  do  not  think  him  capable  of  such  a 
dreadful  deed.  As  for  Father  Philibin,  he  did  not  quit 
Valmerie  that  evening.  Moreover,  he  also  seems  to  me 
honest,  a  worthy  man  at  bottom.' 

Silence  fell.  Then  Marc,  with  a  dreamy  expression  in 
his  eyes,  resumed:  '  Yet  something  had  certainly  happened 
that  morning  just  as  I  arrived  at  the  school.  Father  Phili- 
bin had  picked  up  the  newspaper  and  the  copy-slip,  and  I 
now  ask  myself  whether  he  profited  by  that  brief  oppor- 
tunity to  tear  off  and  do  away  with  that  corner  of  the  slip, 
on  which,  perhaps,  there  may  have  been  some  indication. 
.  .  But  Mignot,  though  he  hesitated  at  first,  now  de- 
clares the  corner  must  have  been  missing  when  he  first  saw 
the  slip.' 

'And  what  about  the  assistant  Brothers,  Isidore,  Lazarus, 
and  Gorgias  ? '  asked  Delbos. 

David,  who  on  his  side  had  prosecuted  unremitting  in- 
quiries with  admirable  zeal,  intelligence,  and  patience,  shook 
his  head.  'All  three  have  alibis  which  a  dozen  of  their  set 
will  establish  in  court,'  he  replied.  '  Isidore  and  Lazarus, 


TRUTH  IO5 

it  seems,  returned  to  the  school  from  the  Capuchin  Chapel 
with  their  principal,  Brother  Fulgence.  Brother  Gorgias 
for  his  part  saw  a  child  home,  but  he  also  had  returned  to 
the  school  by  half-past  ten,  according  to  all  the  members  of 
the  staff  and  various  lay  witnesses — friends  of  the  Brothers, 
it  is  true — who  perceived  him  going  in. ' 

Again  did  Marc  intervene  in  his  pensive  manner,  his 
eyes  wandering  afar  like  those  of  a  man  in  quest  of  truth. 
'That  Brother  Gorgias  is  not  to  my  liking;  I  thought  of 
him,'  he  said.  '  The  child  he  escorted  home  was  Polydor, 
the  nephew  of  a  woman  named  Pelagie,  who  is  cook  to  my 
wife's  relatives.  I  tried  to  question  the  boy,  but  he  is  sly, 
idle,  addicted  to  falsehoods,  and  I  got  nothing  out  of  him 
except  a  little  more  confusion.  All  the  same,  Brother 
Gorgias  haunts  me.  He  is  said  to  be  brutal,  sensual,  cyni- 
cal, displaying  excessive  piety,  professing  a  stern,  uncom- 
promising, exterminating  creed.  I  have  been  told  also  that 
he  formerly  had  some  connection  with  Father  Philibin  and 
even  with  Father  Crabot.  .  .  .  Brother  Gorgias,  yes, 
I  certainly  thought  for  a  moment  that  he  might  be  our  man. 
But  then  I  found  I  had  nothing  to  go  upon  except  supposi- 
tions.' 

'Certainly,  Brother  Gorgias  is  not  a  pleasant  customer,' 
declared  David,  '  and  my  feelings  are  akin  to  yours.  But 
can  we  denounce  him  when  we  have  only  arguments  to 
bring  against  him?  No  witness  would  support  us;  all  would 
stand  up  for  the  Brother  and  whitewash  him  in  reply  to  our 
impious  charges.' 

Delbos  had  listened  attentively.  'At  all  events,'  said  he, 
'  I  cannot  defend  Simon  without  carrying  the  battle  into  the 
enemy's  camp.  Bear  in  mind,  too,  that  the  only  help  from 
which  you  may  derive  some  advantage  will  perhaps  come  to 
you  from  the  Church  itself.  The  old  quarrel  between  our 
Bishop,  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  and  Father  Crabot,  the 
Rector  of  Valmarie,  is  taking  a  very  serious  turn,  by  reason, 
precisely,  of  the  Simon  affair.  My  own  belief  is  that  the 
crafty  mind  and  the  invisible  hand,  which  seem  to  you  to 
be  directing  the  whole  business,  are  those  of  Father  Crabot. 
I  certainly  do  not  accuse  him  of  the  crime,  but  it  is  he  who 
is  protecting  the  culprit.  And  if  we  attack  him  we  shall 
strike  the  head  of  the  band,  besides  which  the  Bishop  will 
be  on  our  side — not  openly,  of  course;  but  is  not  such  as- 
sistance something,  even  if  it  be  secret  ? ' 

A  smile  of  doubt  appeared  on  Marc's  face,  as  if  he  felt 


106  TRUTH 

that  one  never  had  the  Church  on  one's  side  when  human 
truth  and  justice  were  at  stake.  However,  he  likewise  re- 
garded Father  Crabot  as  the  enemy,  and  to  trace  the 
developments  of  the  case  back  to  him  and  to  endeavour  to 
destroy  him  was  the  right  course.  So  they  spoke  of  Father 
Crabot  and  of  his  past  life,  which  a  somewhat  mysterious 
legend  poetised.  He  was  thought  to  be  the  illegitimate 
grandson  of  a  famous  general,  a  prince  of  the  First  Empire, 
which  relationship,  in  the  estimation  of  patriotic  souls,  en- 
dued his  pious  ministry  with  some  of  the  resounding  glory 
of  battle  and  conquest.  But  the  romantic  circumstances  in 
which  he  had  taken  orders  touched  people  more  deeply. 
At  thirty  years  of  age  he  had  been  a  rich,  handsome,  gallant 
cavalier,  on  the  point  of  marrying  a  beautiful  widow,  a 
Duchess  with  a  great  name  and  a  great  fortune ;  but  brutal 
death  had  struck  her  down  in  her  flower.  That  blow,  as 
Father  Crabot  often  said,  had  shown  him  the  bitter  nothing- 
ness of  human  joys,  and  cast  him  into  the  arms  of  religion. 
He  had  gained  thereby  the  tremulous  tenderness  of  all  wo- 
. men's  hearts;  they  were  well  pleased,  indeed,  that  he 
should  have  sought  a  refuge  in  heaven,  for  love  of  the  one 
woman  whom  he  had  adored. 

Then  another  legend,  that  of  the  foundation  of  the  Col- 
lege of  Valmarie,  endeared  him  to  the  devotees  of  the 
region.  The  Valmarie  estate  had  previously  belonged  to 
the  old  Countess  de  Que*deville,  who,  after  notorious 
amours,  had  retired  thither  to  sanctify  her  last  years  by  the 
practice  of  extreme  piety.  Her  son  and  daughter-in-law 
having  perished  in  an  accident  while  travelling,  she  re- 
mained alone  with  her  grandson  and  sole  heir,  Gaston,  a 
boy  of  nine  years,  who  was  most  aggressively  turbulent, 
violent  in  speech,  and  wild  in  his  play.  Not  knowing  how 
to  subdue  him,  and  not  daring  to  trust  him  to  school  life, 
the  Countess  had  engaged  as  tutor  a  young  Jesuit  of  six  and 
twenty,  Father  Philibin,  whose  manners  suggested  his 
peasant  origin,  but  who  was  recommended  to  her  for  his 
extreme  firmness.  He,  no  doubt,  made  the  Countess  ac- 
quainted with  Father  Crabot,  who  was  some  five  or  six 
years  his  senior,  and  who  was  then  at  the  height  of  his  celeb- 
rity, radiant  with  the  halo  of  his  great  passion  and  its 
tragic,  divine  ending.  Six  months  later,  as  friend  and  con- 
fessor, he  reigned  at  Valmarie,  evil-minded  people  asserting 
that  he  was  the  lover  of  the  Countess. 

As   that  turbulent  boy   Gaston  seemed  to  disturb  the 


TRUTH 

happy  quietude  of  the  domain,  a  truly  royal  one  with  its 
grand  old  trees,  its  running  waters,  its  great  stretches  of 
green  velvet,  there  was  at  one  moment  some  thought  of 
sending  him  to  the  Jesuit  Fathers  in  Paris.  He  climbed 
the  loftiest  poplars  for  rooks'  nests,  took  to  the  river  in  his 
clothes  to  fish  for  eels,  came  home  in  rags,  with  arms  and 
legs  bruised,  and  his  face  bleeding,  giving  his  grandmother 
no  rest  whatever  from  anxiety,  in  spite  of  Father  Philibin's 
reputed  firmness.  But  all  at  once  the  situation  was  tragi- 
cally altered:  Gaston  was  drowned  one  day  while  walking 
out,  under  the  nominal  supervision  of  his  tutor.  The  latter 
related  that  the  boy  had  fallen  into  a  dangerous  hole  full  of 
water,  whence  it  had  been  impossible  to  extricate  him,  in 
spite  of  the  efforts  of  a  young  fellow  of  fifteen,  Georges 
Plumet — the  son  of  one  of  the  gardeners  and  sometimes 
Gaston's  companion  in  his  escapades — who  had  run  up  on 
seeing  the  accident  from  a  distance.  The  Countess,  pro- 
foundly grieved,  died  during  the  following  year,  bequeath- 
ing Valmarie  and  all  her  fortune  to  Father  Crabot — or,  to 
be  exact,  to  a  petty  clerical  banker  of  Beaumont,  who  lent 
his  name  in  such  matters — with  directions  to  establish  a 
Jesuit  College  on  the  estate.  Crabot,  for  a  time,  had  taken 
himself  elsewhere,  then  had  returned  with  the  rank  of 
Rector,  and  for  ten  years  now  the  College  had  been  pros- 
pering under  his  control. 

He  reigned  there  from  his  austere  and  retired  little  cell, 
whose  walls  were  bare,  and  whose  furniture  was  limited  to 
a  little  pallet,  a  table,  and  two  chairs.  He  made  the  bed, 
he  swept  the  floor  himself;  and  though  he  heard  the  confes- 
sions of  his  female  penitents  in  the  chapel,  it  was  in  that 
cell  that  he  listened  to  those  of  the  men,  as  if  he  were 
proud  of  the  poverty  and  solitude  into  which  he  withdrew 
like  some  redoubtable  divinity,  leaving  to  Father  Philibin, 
the  Prefect  of  the  Studies,  all  usual  daily  intercourse  with 
the  pupils  of  the  establishment.  But,  although  he  rarely 
showed  himself  to  them  in  the  class-rooms,  he  reserved 
'  parlour-days  '  to  himself,  lavished  attentions  on  his  pupils' 
relations,  particularly  on  the  ladies  and  young  girls  of  the 
local  aristocracy,  busying  himself  with  the  future  of  his 
dear  sons  and  dear  daughters,  arranging  their  marriages, 
insuring  them  good  positions,  in  fact  disposing  of  all  those 
fine  folk  for  the  greater  glory  of  God  and  of  his  particular 
Order.  And  it  was  thus  that  he  had  become  an  all-power- 
ful personage. 


108  TRUTH 

'To  tell  the  truth,'  Delbos  resumed,  'Father  Crabot 
strikes  me  as  being  a  mediocrity,  whose  entire  strength  pro- 
ceeds from  the  stupidity  of  those  among  whom  he  works. 
I  am  more  distrustful  of  Father  Philibin,  whom  you  think 
a  worthy  man.  I  am  impressed  by  his  affected  roughness 
and  frankness.  Suspicion  clings  to  his  doings  and  to 
Crabot's  in  the  time  of  the  Countess  de  Que"deville,  such  as 
the  drowning  of  that  child  Gaston,  and  all  the  more  or  less 
lawful  manoeuvring  to  acquire  the  estate  and  the  fortune. 
It  happens  that  the  only  witness  of  Gaston's  death,  Georges 
Plumet,  the  gardener's  son,  is  precisely  Brother  Gorgias,  for 
whom  Philibin  assumed  great  affection  and  of  whom  he 
made  an  Ignorantine,  when,  of  course,  he  changed  his 
name.  And  now  we  find  those  three  men  together  again, 
and  the  solution  of  the  present  mystery  is  to  be  found,  per- 
haps, in  that  circumstance;  for,  if  Brother  Gorgias  be 
guilty,  the  efforts  of  the  others  to  save  him  might  be  ex- 
plained by  strong  personal  motives,  the  existence  of  some 
skeleton  in  their  cupboard,  and  the  dread  lest  he  should 
speak  out  if  he  were  abandoned.  Unfortunately,  as  you 
said  just  now,  we  can  only  form  suppositions,  whereas  we 
need  substantial,  authentic  facts.  However,  let  us  keep  on 
searching.  Defence,  I  repeat  it,  will  only  be  possible  if  I 
am  armed  sufficiently  to  be  an  accuser  and  an  avenger.' 

That  conversation  with  Delbos  inspirited  David  and 
Marc.  And,  even  as  had  been  foreseen,  they  tasted  for  a 
moment  the  pleasure  of  witnessing  a  quarrel  in  the  clerical 
camp.  At  the  outset  of  the  affair  Abbe"  Quandieu,  the  par- 
ish priest  of  Maillebois,  had  not  concealed  his  belief  in  the 
innocence  of  Simon.  He  did  not  go  so  far  as  to  accuse  one 
of  the  Brothers;  but  he  allowed  it  to  be  seen  that  he  disap- 
proved of  the  frantic  campaign  which  the  Brothers  and  the 
Capuchins  were  carrying  on  with  the  object  of  gaining  the 
whole  district  for  themselves;  for,  apart  from  his  own  loss 
of  parishioners,  it  distressed  him,  for  religion's  sake,  to  see 
the  basest  superstitions  triumphing.  When  he  found  public 
opinion  suddenly  poisoned  with  respect  to  Simon's  case,  he 
became  neutral,  never  speaking  of  the  affair,  but  dreading, 
in  his  sincere  piety,  lest  his  dear  gentle  Lord  of  charity  and 
love  should  be  slain  and  replaced  by  a  God  of  falsehood  and 
iniquity.  His  only  consolation  was  that  his  views  coincided 
with  those  of  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  the  Bishop,  who  was 
fond  of  him  and  whom  he  often  visited.  Like  the  priest 
himself,  the  Bishop  was  accused  of  G-aUi^-anissk  which  sim- 


TRUTH 

ply  meant  that  he  did  not  invariably  bow  to  Rome,  and  that 
the  idolatrous  worship  of  images  and  the  impudent  traffick- 
ing of  those  who  contracted  to  perform  spurious  miracles 
were  repugnant  to  his  pure  faith.  For  instance,  he  observed 
with  saddened  eyes  the  invading  tendencies  of  the  Maille- 
bois  Capuchins,  who  so  openly  traded  on  the  shrine  of  St. 
Antony  of  Padua  which  they  had  set  up  in  their  chapel, 
thus  competing  disloyally  with  the  church  of  St.  Martin, 
where  Abbe"  Quandieu  officiated.  The  Bishop's  anxiety  in- 
creased when  behind  the  Capuchins  he  divined  the  presence 
of  the  Jesuits,  all  the  disciplined  troops  of  his  enemy  Father 
Crabot,  who  was  always  employing  his  influence  to  thwart 
him,  and  who  dreamt  of  becoming  master  of  the  diocese. 

The  Bishop  reproached  the  Jesuits  with  compelling  God 
to  go  to  men,  instead  of  forcing  men  to  go  to  God,  and  he 
also  saw  in  them  the  artisans  of  the  society  compromise,  of 
the  falling  off  both  in  faith  and  in  observances,  which  in  his 
opinion  was  destroying  the  Church.  In  the  Simon  affair,  on 
finding  them  so  intent  upon  ruining  the  unhappy  prisoner, 
he  became  suspicious  and  studied  the  case  very  carefully 
with  Abbe"  Quandieu,  who  was  well  informed.  He  must 
then  have  arrived  at  a  decisive  opinion.  Perhaps  indeed  he 
learnt  who  was  really  the  culprit.  But  what  course  could 
he  take,  how  could  he  give  up  a  member  of  the  religious 
Orders,  without  risk  of  doing  harm  to  religion?  He  lacked 
the  courage  to  go  as  far  as  that.  Yet  certainly  his  silence 
was  full  of  bitterness,  and  he  felt  anxious  as  to  the  conse- 
quences of  the  monstrous  adventure  into  which  others  were 
forcing  the  Church,  which  he  would  have  liked  to  see  all 
peace,  equity,  and  kindliness. 

Thus  Monseigneur  Bergerot's  resignation  was  not  abso- 
lute. The  idea  of  abandoning  his  dear  Abbe"  Quandieu,  of 
allowing  those  whom  he  called  '  the  dealers  of  the  Temple  ' 
to  consummate  his  ruin,  was  unbearable  to  him.  On  com- 
ing, then,  to  Maillebois  in  the  course  of  a  pastoral  round  of 
inspection,  he  officiated  personally  in  the  ancient  church  of 
St.  Martin,  and  delivered  an  address  in  which  he  blamed  all 
gross  superstition,  referring  plainly  to  the  commerce  carried 
on  by  the  Capuchins  in  their  chapel,  which  was  now  driving 
as  much  trade  as  a  bazaar.  Nobody  was  mistaken  as  to  the 
Bishop's  meaning;  moreover,  everyone  felt  that  the  blow 
was  directed  not  only  against  Father  Th^odose,  but  against 
Father  Crabot  who  was  behind  him.  And  as  Monseigneur 
ended  by  expressing  the  hope  that  the  Church  of  France 


HO  TRUTH 

would  remain  the  pure  source  of  all  truth  and  justice,  the 
scandal  became  the  greater,  for  in  those  words  an  allusion 
to  the  Simon  affair  was  detected,  and  the  Bishop  was  ac- 
cused of  casting  the  Brothers  of  the  Christian  Doctrine  to 
the  Jews,  the  bribe-takers,  and  the  traitors.  On  returning 
to  his  episcopal  palace  Monseigneur  Bergerot  must  have 
trembled  at  the  thought  of  the  courage  he  had  shown,  par- 
ticularly as  everything  was  done  to  embitter  his  position  still 
more.  Some  intimates,  in  recounting  the  visit  of  thanks 
which  Abbe"  Quandieu  paid  him,  mentioned  that  the  Bishop 
and  the  poor  priest  had  wept  together. 

The  agitation  at  Beaumont  increased  as  the  assizes  drew 
near;  the  Indictment  Chamber  having  returned  the  papers 
in  Simon's  case  to  the  Prosecution  Office,  the  first  hearing 
had  been  fixed  for  Monday,  October  20.  Meantime  the 
position  taken  up  by  the  Bishop  brought  popular  passions  to 
a  climax.  He  was  attacked  even  more  violently  by  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais  than  by  La  Croix  de  Beaumont,  though  the  lat- 
ter journal  was  in  the  hands  of  the  Jesuits.  The  Simonists 
had  plucked  up  a  little  courage  at  the  advent  of  his  un- 
hoped-for help;  but  the  anti-Simonists  poisoned  public 
opinion  with  fresh  romances,  among  others  an  extraordinary 
invention  to  the  effect  that  a  Jew  syndicate  had  been  formed 
to  buy  up  all  the  powers  of  the  world  by  dint  of  millions. 
And  three  millions,  it  was  said,  had  gone  to  Monseigneur 
Bergerot  as  his  share. 

From  that  moment  dementia  and  violence  reigned  through- 
out the  town.  From  Le  Mauviot,  the  working-class  faufourg, 
to  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  the  aristocratic  quarter,  passing 
by  way  of  the  Rue  Fontanier  and  the  adjoining  narrow 
streets  where  the  smaller  shopkeepers  congregated,  the  con- 
test became  more  and  more  bitter,  the  Simonists,  who  were 
few  in  number,  being  crushed  by  the  ever-growing  hordes  of 
their  adversaries.  On  one  occasion  a  crowd  went  to  hoot 
Salvan,  the  Director  of  the  Training  College,  as  he  was  sus- 
pected of  Simonism;  and  in  a  like  spirit,  Depinvilliers,  the 
Jew-hating  and  patriotic  principal  of  the  Lyce"e,  was  ac- 
claimed. Paid  brawlers,  recruited  on  the  pavements  and 
reinforced  by  clerical  young  men  of  position,  swept  the 
streets  and  threatened  the  Jew-shops.  The  saddest  was 
that  the  Republican  and  even  some  of  the  Socialist  working 
men  either  disinterested  themselves  from  the  contest  or  took 
up  positions  against  right  and  truth.  Then  terror  reigned, 
cowardice  became  widespread,  all  the  social  forces  coalesced 


TRUTH  III 

against  the  unhappy  prisoner.  The  University,  headed  by 
Forbes,  its  Rector,  did  not  stir  for  fear  of  compromising 
itself.  The  official  Administration,  personified  by  Prefect 
Hennebise,  had  disinterested  itself  from  the  question  at  the 
outset,  desirous  as  it  was  of  incurring  no  worries.  The 
politicians,  the  Senators  as  well  as  the  Deputies,  remained 
silent  for  fear  they  might  lose  their  seats  if  they  spoke  other- 
wise than  the  electors  did.  The  Church,  in  which  the 
Bishop  had  ceased  to  count,  Father  Crabot  becoming  its 
real  chief,  demanded  the  setting  up  of  piles  and  stakes,  and 
the  extermination  of  all  Jews,  Protestants,  and  Freemasons. 
The  army,  by  the  voice  of  General  Jarousse,  also  called  for 
the  cleansing  of  the  country,  and  the  enthronement  of  an 
emperor  or  a  king  as  soon  as  all  the  rogues  without  God  or 
fatherland  should  be  sabred.  And  there  remained  the  Ju- 
dicial Bench,  towards  which  every  hope  went  forth,  for  did 
it  not  hold  in  its  hands  the  necessary  denouement,  the  con- 
demnation of  the  dirty  Jew,  by  which  alone  the  salvation  of 
France  might  be  assured?  Thus  Gragnon,  the  presiding 
judge,  and  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere,  the  Public  Prosecutor, 
had  become  great  personages,  of  whom  nobody  doubted,  for 
their  anti-Simonism  was  as  notorious  as  were  their  desire  for 
advancement  and  their  passion  for  popularity. 

When  the  names  inscribed  on  the  general  roll  of  jurors 
for  the  coming  assizes  were  made  public,  there  was  a  fresh 
outburst  of  violence  and  intrigue.  The  most  terrible  pres- 
sure was  brought  to  bear  on  the  persons  who  were  likely  to 
serve ;  so  that  nobody  might  remain  ignorant  of  their  names 
and  addresses  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  printed  them,  thus  de- 
signating them  to  the  fury  of  the  crowd  in  the  event  of  their 
failing  to  convict  the  prisoner.  They  received  anonymous 
letters,  they  were  upset  by  strange  visitors,  they  were  begged 
to  think  of  their  wives  and  children.  In  the  drawing-rooms 
of  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres  people  amused  themselves  with 
elaborate  calculations,  passing  in  review  the  more  or  less 
certain  opinions  of  each  individual  juror.  Would  such  a 
one  convict  or  would  he  not  ?  The  question  became  a 
society  pastime. 

At  beautiful  Madame  Lemarrois'  house  each  Saturday, 
her  day,  nothing  else  was  spoken  of.  All  the  ladies  came: 
G£ne>ale  Jarousse,  who,  although  lean,  ugly,  and  dusky, 
was  said  to  be  abominably  unfaithful  to  the  general,  her 
husband;  Pr^sidente  Gragnon,  who,  still  superb  and  lan- 
guishing, fascinated  the  young  Assessors  of  the  Public 


112  TRUTH 

Prosecution  Service ;  Prefete  Hennebise,  who,  like  an  artful 
and  prudent  Parisienne,  spoke  little  and  listened  a  great 
deal;  together  with  the  eager  Madame  Daix,  the  Investigat- 
ing Magistrate's  wife,  and  at  times  even  Madame  de  La 
Bissonniere,  the  Prosecutor's  spouse,  though  she,  gentle  and 
retiring  in  her  ways,  seldom  went  into  society.  The  ladies 
had  all  attended  a  great  fete  given  at  La  De"sirade  by  the 
Sangleboeufs  in  accordance  with  the  advice  of  Baron  Na- 
than, who  had  prevailed  on  his  daughter  to  shake  off  her 
indolence  and  place  herself,  like  others  of  her  sex,  at  the 
service  of  the  good  cause.  The  part  which  women  played 
in  the  affair  was  indeed  an  influential  one :  they  were  worth 
an  army,  said  young  Deputy  Marcilly,  who,  waiting  to  see 
on  which  side  victory  would  rest,  comported  himself  as  a 
Simonist  with  some  and  as  an  anti-Simonist  with  others. 

But  a  last  quarrel  maddened  everybody.  One  morning 
Le  Petit  Beaumontais  formally  suggested  that  at  least  some 
part  of  the  case  should  be  heard  in  camera.  This  idea  had 
certainly  not  originated  with  the  newspaper  itself;  one 
divined  in  it  a  deep  knowledge  of  the  sentiments  of  the 
multitude,  a  hope  that  mystery  would  make  the  charges 
appear  yet  more  monstrous  than  they  were,  and  a  desire  for 
some  convenient  means  by  which  one  might  subsequently 
justify  the  condemnation  of  an  innocent  man,  as  for  instance 
by  asserting  that  facts  had  come  out  in  camera  with  which  the 
general  public  was  not  acquainted.  The  Simonists  detected 
the  danger,  protested,  appealed  for  full  light,  the  hearing  of 
the  whole  case  in  open  court;  whereupon  the  anti-Simonists, 
fired  with  indignation,  shrieked  that  the  appeal  was  scandal- 
ous, and  demanded  to  know  whether  the  ears  of  respectable 
people  were  to  be  soiled  by  being  compelled  to  listen  to  the 
most  abominable  particulars.  Thus,  during  the  last  week, 
a  furious  m^le'e  raged  in  Beaumont. 

At  last  the  great  day,  October  20,  arrived.  The  school 
term  having  begun,  Marc  had  been  obliged  to  reinstall 
himself  at  Jonville,  with  Genevieve  and  little  Louise,  whom 
Madame  Duparque  and  Madame  Berthereau  had  insisted 
on  keeping  with  them  throughout  the  whole  vacation  that 
year.  Marc  had  assented  the  more  readily  as  his  sojourn  at 
Maillebois  permitted  him  to  carry  on  his  investigations, 
which,  alas!  led  to  nothing.  But  at  the  same  time  he  had 
felt  so  uncomfortable  in  the  ladies'  house,  where  never  a 
word  was  said  of  the  great  affair,  that  he  was  happy  to  find 
himself  once  more  in  his  school,  among  his  troop  of  playful 


TRUTH  113 

boys,  some  of  whom  were  so  dear  to  him.  On  the  other 
hand,  at  his  own  request,  he  had  been  cited  as  a  witness  in 
the  case  in  order  that  he  might  testify  to  Simon's  good  char- 
acter; and  he  awaited  the  trial  with  a  quiver  of  emotion, 
again  possessed  by  tenacious  reliance  in  truth  and  justice, 
for  it  seemed  to  him  impossible  that  a  man  could  be  con- 
demned without  proofs,  in  these  days  and  in  France,  a  land 
of  liberty  and  generosity. 

When  he  arrived  at  Beaumont  on  the  Monday  morning 
the  town  appeared  to  be  in  a  state  of  siege.  Most  of  the 
troops  were  kept  under  arms  in  their  barracks,  but  gendarmes 
and  infantrymen  guarded  the  approaches  of  the  Palace  of 
Justice;  and  in  order  to  reach  it  Marc  had  to  overcome  all 
sorts  of  obstacles,  although  he  was  duly  provided  with  a 
witness's  summons.  Again,  he  found  the  staircases  and 
passages  likewise  barred  by  troops.  The  Assize  Court,  a 
new  and  very  spacious  hall,  glittered  with  gilding  and  imita- 
tion marble,  in  the  crude  light  entering  by  six  large  win- 
dows. The  place  was  already  crowded  two  hours  before 
the  opening  of  the  proceedings.  All  the  fine  folk  of  Beau- 
mont were  assembled  behind  the  judges'  arm-chairs.  There 
were  ladies  in  full  dress  everywhere,  even  on  the  benches 
usually  reserved  for  witnesses.  And  the  'pit,'  where  only 
standing  room  was  provided,  was  already  tumultuous.  A 
picked  throng  was  gathered  there;  one  recognised  the 
church  beadles  and  the  hired  '  demonstrators  '  of  the  streets, 
with  whom  mingled  some  of  the  ranters  of  the  Young  Catho- 
lic set.  There  was  a  long  delay,  and  thus  Marc  had  ample 
time  to  examine  the  faces  around  him  and  to  realise  amid 
what  hostile  passions  the  proceedings  would  take  their 
course. 

The  Court  appeared:  first  Gragnon  and  his  Assessors, 
then  the  Procureur  de  la  Re"publique,  La  Bissonniere.  The 
first  formalities  were  accomplished  rapidly;  but  it  was 
rumoured  that  a  'panel*  had  not  been  formed  without  diffi- 
culty, several  jurors  on  the  roll  having  applied  to  be  ex- 
cused, so  great  was  their  dread  of  incurring  any  responsibility 
in  Simon's  case.  At  last  the  twelve  chosen  men  entered  the 
court  in  a  file,  and  took  their  seats  morosely,  like  condemned 
criminals.  There  were  five  shopkeepers,  two  manufactur- 
ers, two  individuals  living  on  their  means,  a  doctor,  an  archi- 
tect, and  a  retired  army  captain.  The  architect,  a  pious  man, 
named  Jacquin,  who  worked  for  the  bishopric,  happened  to 
be  the  foreman,  his  name  having  come  first  at  the  drawing 


114  TRUTH 

of  lots.  If  the  counsel  for  the  defence  had  not  challenged 
him  by  reason  of  his  connections,  it  was  because  he  en- 
joyed a  well-deserved  reputation  for  loyalty,  uprightness, 
and  honesty.  Moreover,  something  like  disappointment 
became  manifest  among  the  anti-Simonists  on  the  arrival  of 
the  jurymen,  whose  names  were  repeated  here  and  there,  as 
each  in  succession  was  identified.  Some  of  them  appeared 
to  be  doubtful  customers;  and  there  had  been  hopes  of  a 
more  reliable  jury,  one  absolutely  determined  to  convict  the 
prisoner. 

Deep  silence  fell;  then  the  examination  of  Simon  began. 
Looking  puny  and  awkward  as  he  entered  the  court,  he  had 
created  an  unfavourable  impression.  But  he  had  drawn 
himself  up,  and  now,  by  reason  of  the  quiet  and  easy  way 
in  which  he  answered  the  questions  addressed  to  him,  he 
appeared  to  be  impudent.  Gragnon,  the  presiding  judge, 
had  put  on  the  scoffing  air  which  he  assumed  on  great  occa- 
sions, while  keeping  his  little  grey  eyes  fixed  upon  the  advo- 
cate, Maitre  Delbos,  the  anarchist,  as  he  called  him,  whom 
he  had  undertaken  to  suppress  with  a  thumb-stroke.  Mean- 
time he  indulged  in  witticisms,  striving  to  provoke  laughter, 
but  growing  gradually  irritated  by  the  calmness  of  Simon, 
who,  as  he  did  not  lie,  was  unable  to  contradict  himself  and 
thus  give  himself  away.  The  judge  therefore  became  inso- 
lent, vainly  endeavouring  to  provoke  a  protest  from  Delbos ; 
but  the  latter,  knowing  his  man,  held  his  tongue  and  smiled. 
On  the  whole,  the  first  day's  proceedings,  while  rejoicing  the 
Simonists,  rendered  the  anti-Simonists  extremely  anxious, 
for  the  prisoner  had  clearly  set  forth  the  hour  of  his  return 
to  Maillebois,  and  the  manner  in  which  he  had  immediately 
joined  his  wife,  without  it  being  possible  for  the  judge  to 
produce  a  single  certain,  ascertained  fact  in  opposition  to 
his  declarations.  At  the  rising  of  the  Court,  when  the 
crowd  retired,  the  witnesses  for  the  defence  were  hooted, 
and  there  was  almost  a  fight  on  the  steps  of  the  Palace  of 
Justice. 

On  the  Tuesday  the  hearing  of  the  witnesses  began  amid 
a  yet  greater  concourse  of  people.  First  came  assistant- 
master  Mignot,  whose  statements  were  now  less  assertive 
than  they  had  been  during  the  magisterial  inquiry.  He  no 
longer  spoke  positively  of  the  hour  at  which  he  had  heard 
sounds  of  footsteps  and  voices.  Simple  and  worthy  fellow 
as  he  was  at  bottom,  he  doubtless  felt  disturbed  when  he 
thought  of  the  terrible  consequences  of  such  evidence  as  the 


TRUTH  115 

judge  tried  to  extract  from  him.  But  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire  was  pitilessly  precise.  She  specified  the  exact  time,  a 
quarter  to  eleven  o'clock,  adding  even  that  she  had  fully 
recognised  Simon's  voice  and  footfall.  Then  came  a  long 
procession  of  railway  employes,  octroi  officials,1  and  mere 
wayfarers,  whose  evidence  was  taken  to  solve  the  question 
whether  the  prisoner  had  travelled  by  the  10.30  train,  as  the 
prosecution  asserted,  or  whether  he  had  returned  home  on 
foot,  as  he  himself  claimed  to  have  done.  The  depositions 
on  the  subject  were  interminable,  full  of  confusion  and  con- 
tradictions. The  impression  they  left,  however,  was  some- 
what favourable  to  the  defence.  But  next  came  the  much 
awaited  evidence  of  Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence. 
The  former,  which  was  very  brief,  proved  a  disappointment, 
for  the  Jesuit  merely  recounted  in  a  few  husky  sentences 
how  he  had  found  the  little  body  on  the  floor  near  the  bed. 
But  Brother  Fulgence  amused  the  whole  assembly  by  the 
vehemence  he  imparted  to  his  narrative,  throughout  the 
whole  of  which  he  gesticulated  as  wildly  as  a  jumping-jack. 
Nevertheless,  he  seemed  quite  pleased  with  the  effect  he 
produced.  From  the  very  outset  of  the  affair  he  had  not 
ceased  to  muddle  and  spoil  things. 

At  last  the  three  assistant  Brothers,  Isidore,  Lazarus,  and 
Gorgias,  who  had  been  specially  cited  by  the  defence,  were 
called.  Delbos  allowed  the  two  former  to  retire  after  a  few 
insignificant  questions,  but  he  rose  and  remained  erect  while 
Gorgias  was  at  the  bar.  That  former  little  peasant,  the  son 
of  a  gardener  at  Valmarie,  Georges  Plumet  as  he  was  called 
in  the  days  of  the  Countess  de  Qu^deville,  and  now  Brother 
Gorgias  of  the  Ignorantine  Order,  was  a  strong,  thin,  dark 
and  knotty  man,  with  a  low  stern  forehead,  projecting 
cheek-bones,  and  thick  lips  under  a  big  nose  shaped  like 
an  eagle's  beak.  As  formerly  mentioned,  he  was  afflicted 
with  a  tic,  a  convulsive  twitching  of  his  upper  lip  on  its  left 
side,  which  thus  disclosed  his  strong  teeth,  and  formed  a 
kind  of  involuntary  rictus,  having  a  violent  and  scoffing  ex- 
pression. When  he  stepped  forward  in  his  old  black  frock 
and  with  his  white  band  of  doubtful  cleanliness,  a  quiver, 
which  had  come  nobody  knew  whence,  sped  through  the 
assembly.  And  immediately  a  duel,  with  questions  as  keen 
as  sword  thrusts  and  answers  as  cutting  as  parries,  began 

1  Those  who  collect  municipal  dues  at  the  gates  or  outskirts  of  French 
towns. —  Trans. 


Il6  TRUTH 

between  the  advocate  and  the  Brother  on  the  subject  of  the 
evening  of  the  crime,  on  the  time  which  the  witness  had 
taken  to  escort  little  Polydor  to  his  home,  and  the  precise 
hour  at  which  he  had  returned  to  the  school.  The  public 
listened  in  perplexity,  failing  to  understand  the  decisive 
importance  of  this  examination,  for  the  witness  was  a 
stranger  to  most  of  the  people  present.  As  it  happened, 
Brother  Gorgias,  in  his  violent  scoffing  way,  found  an  an- 
swer for  every  question,  produced  proofs,  and  established 
the  fact  that  at  half-past  ten  o'clock  he  had  been  in  bed 
in  his  cell.  Brothers  Isidore  and  Lazarus  were  recalled,  the 
doorkeeper  of  the  Brothers'  school  was  fetched,  together 
with  two  inhabitants  of  Maillebois,  belated  promenaders, 
and  all  swore  and  confirmed  the  Ignorantine's  assertions. 

Of  course  this  duel  was  not  fought  without  considerable 
intervention  on  the  part  of  President  Gragnon,  who  thought 
the  opportunity  favourable  to  silence  Delbos,  on  the  ground 
that  he  addressed  insulting  questions  to  the  Brother.  Del- 
bos  retorted  by  submitting  'conclusions,'  and  there  was 
quite  a  to-do,  amidst  which  Brother  Gorgias  seemed  trium- 
phant, turning  on  the  advocate  sly  glances  of  disdain,  as  if 
to  imply  that  he  feared  nothing  whatever,  protected  as  he 
was  by  his  God  of  anger  and  extermination,  who  proved  so 
terrible  to  infidels.  But  if  the  incident  yielded  no  result 
that  Delbos  could  immediately  put  to  use,  it  wrought  great 
perturbation ;  and  some  folk  felt  terribly  alarmed  lest  Simon 
should  escape  as  the  result  of  such  attempts  to  cast  doubt 
into  the  minds  of  the  jurors.  That  alarm  must  have  spread 
to  the  Congregations,  for  a  fresh  incident  occurred  after  the 
evidence  of  the  handwriting  experts,  Masters  Badoche  and 
Trabut,  who,  amidst  general  stupefaction,  explained  how 
they  detected  Simon's  initials,  an  E  and  an  S  interlaced,  in 
the  paraph  on  the  copy-slip,  when  nobody  else  could  see 
them  there.  That  copy-slip  was  the  one  document  in  the 
case,  everything  depended  on  it;  thus  the  evidence  of 
those  extraordinary  experts  was  extremely  grave:  it  meant 
the  condemnation  of  Simon. 

It  was  then  that  Father  Philibin,  who  had  followed  the 
proceedings  most  attentively,  asked  the  judge's  permission 
to  return  to  the  bar.  There,  in  a  ringing  voice,  he,  who 
had  first  shown  himself  so  spiritless  and  retiring,  recounted 
a  brief  story  of  a  certain  letter  he  had  seen — a  letter  written 
by  Simon  to  a  friend,  and  signed  with  the  same  flourishes. 
And  when  Gragnon  pressed  him,  asked  for  precise  particu- 


TRUTH  II/ 

lars,  the  Jesuit  raised  his  hand  towards  the  picture  of  the 
Crucifixion  above  the  judgment  seat,  and  declared  theatri- 
cally that  it  was  a  secret  of  the  confessional,  and  that  he 
would  say  no  more.  Thus  the  second  day's  proceedings 
came  to  an  end  amid  a  paroxysm  of  feverishness  and 
tumult. 

On  the  Wednesday  the  question  of  hearing  the  report  on 
the  post-mortem  examination  and  the  evidence  of  the 
school  children  in  camera  was  dealt  with.  The  presiding 
judge  had  the  right  to  take  such  a  course;  but  Delbos,  with- 
out contesting  it,  set  forth  all  the  danger  of  wrapping  the 
affair  in  mystery,  and  submitted  fresh  '  conclusions '  to  the 
effect  that  all  evidence  should  be  heard  in  open  court. 
None  the  less  Gragnon  quietly  pronounced  a  judgment, 
which  the  numerous  gendarmes  who  were  present  immedi- 
ately put  into  execution  by  pushing  the  public  outside. 
There  was  an  extraordinary  outburst  of  emotion,  a  perfect 
scramble,  followed  by  passionate  discussions  in  the  pas- 
sages. During  the  two  hours  occupied  by  the  proceedings 
in  camera  the  excitement  kept  on  increasing.  Frightful 
rumours  and  statements  circulated  as  if  what  was  being  said 
in  court  filtered  through  the  walls.  At  first  the  chatterers 
dealt  with  the  report  on  the  post-mortem  examination,  dis- 
cussing in  turn  every  expression  said  to  be  contained  in  it, 
and  adding  horrible  particulars,  hitherto  unknown  to  any- 
body, but  absolutely  proving  Simon's  guilt.  Then  came 
the  evidence  of  the  Bongard,  Doloir,  Savin,  and  Milhomme 
children,  who  were  pictured  saying  things  they  had  never 
said.  However,  people  were  convinced  that  all  had  been 
corrupted,  and,  in  spite  of  Delbos's  protest,  which  indeed 
was  regarded  as  a  mere  comedy,  it  was  declared  that  the 
Simonists  themselves  had  desired  proceedings  in  camera  in 
order  to  save  the  secular  school  of  Maillebois  from  utter 
disgrace.  Thus,  was  not  condemnation  certain?  Besides, 
those  who  might  be  disturbed  by  the  lack  of  sufficient  proof 
respecting  the  death  of  Z^phirin  would  be  told  that  certain 
things  had  been  stated  in  camera — things  they  would  be  un- 
able to  control,  knowing  nothing  of  them. 

When  the  doors  were  reopened  there  came  a  rush,  people 
swept  in  tumultuously,  searching  and  sniffing  for  some  trace 
of  the  monstrosities  they  had  imagined.  But  during  the 
remainder  of  the  sitting  they  heard  little  beyond  the  evi- 
dence of  a  few  witnesses  for  the  defence,  witnesses  as  to 
character,  among  whom  Marc  figured,  and  who  all  declared 


Il8  TRUTH 

Simon  to  be  a  very  kind  and  gentle  man,  fondly  attached  to 
his  wife  and  children.  Only  one  witness  attracted  any  at- 
tention, this  being  Mauraisin,  the  Elementary  Inspector, 
who  had  felt  greatly  annoyed  by  the  citation  which  Delbos 
had  intentionally  sent  to  him.  At  a  loss  between  his  desire 
to  please  the  anti-Simonists  and  his  fear  of  displeasing  his 
immediate  superior,  Le  Barazer,  whom  he  knew  to  be  dis- 
creetly a  Simonist,  Mauraisin  was  in  the  first  instance 
obliged  to  admit  that  he  had  reported  most  favourably  on 
Simon  and  his  school,  and  subsequently  he  could  only 
qualify  those  reports  by  vague  insinuations  respecting  the 
prisoner's  sly  character  and  the  sectarian  violence  of  his 
religious  passions. 

The  speeches  of  La  Bissonniere  and  Delbos  occupied  the 
Court  throughout  the  Thursday  and  the  Friday.  During 
the  earlier  proceedings  La  Bissonniere  had  intervened  as 
little  as  possible,  spending  most  of  his  time  in  taking  notes 
and  contemplating  his  finger-nails.  At  heart  he  was  not 
free  from  uneasiness,  and  he  must  have  asked  himself  if  he 
would  not  do  well  to  relinquish  certain  charges  as  some  of 
the  so-called  proofs  were  so  very  fragile.  Thus  his  address 
was  rather  spiritless.  He  contented  himself  with  pointing 
out  the  various  probabilities  of  guilt,  and  ended  by  asking 
merely  for  the  application  of  the  law.  His  speech  had 
lasted  barely  two  hours,  its  success  was  meagre,  and  the 
anxiety  of  the  anti-Simonists  again  became  acute. 

Not  enough  time  was  left  that  day  for  Delbos,  who  only 
finished  his  speech  on  the  morrow.  He  began  by  drawing 
a  portrait  of  Simon,  showing  him  in  his  school,  esteemed 
and  loved,  having  an  adorable  wife  and  beautiful  children 
at  his  fireside.  Then,  after  setting  forth  the  horrible  and 
ignoble  circumstances  of  the  crime,  the  advocate  asked  if 
such  a  man  could  be  guilty  of  it.  He  took  the  so-called 
proofs  of  the  prosecution  one  by  one,  and  demonstrated 
their  nothingness.  On  the  subject  of  the  copy-slip,  and  the 
report  of  the  hand- writing  experts,  he  waxed  terrible;  he 
showed  that  the  ownership  of  the  one  document  in  the  case 
could  not  be  attributed  to  Simon,  and  he  exposed  the  arrant 
stupidity  of  the  report  drawn  up  by  Masters  Badoche  and 
Trabut.  He  discussed  and  destroyed  every  item  of  evi- 
dence, even  that  which  had  been  taken  in  camera,  thereby 
drawing  on  himself  all  the  thunders  of  President  Gragnon. 
Quite  a  violent  quarrel  arose,  and,  indeed,  from  that  mo- 
ment Delbos  spoke  under  the  constant  threat  of  being  arbi- 


TRUTH  119 

trarily  silenced.  Nevertheless,  from  a  defender  he  became 
an  accuser;  he  cast  before  the  Court  the  Brothers  and  the 
Capuchins,  and  the  Jesuits  also.  He  carried  the  case  back 
to  Father  Crabot  in  order  that  he  might  strike  the  chief  of 
the  coalition,  as  he  desired  to  do.  Only  a  Brother,  he  said, 
could  have  committed  the  crime,  and,  although  he  did  not 
name  Brother  Gorgias,  he  designated  him;  he  gave  all  the 
reasons  on  which  his  conviction  was  based,  he  pointed  out 
all  the  underhand  devices  which  had  been  adopted  by  the 
other  side,  the  formation  of  a  great  clerical  conspiracy  of 
which  Simon  was  the  victim,  and  the  necessity  for  the  plot- 
ters that  an  innocent  man  should  be  condemned  in  order 
that  the  real  culprit  might  be  saved.  In  conclusion  he 
cried  to  the  jury  that  it  was  not  the  murderer  of  little 
Zephirin,  but  the  secular  schoolmaster,  the  Jew,  whom  they 
were  really  asked  to  condemn.  The  end  of  his  speech, 
though  rent  by  the  interruptions  of  the  presiding  judge  and 
the  hooting  of  the  audience,  was,  on  the  whole,  regarded  as 
an  oratorical  triumph,  which  placed  Delbos  in  the  front 
rank,  but  for  which  his  client,  no  doubt,  would  pay  heavily. 

La  Bissonniere  immediately  rose  to  reply  to  it,  his  coun- 
tenance assuming  an  expression  of  grief  and  indignation. 
An  unqualifiable  scandal  had  taken  place;  the  counsel  for 
the  defence  had  dared  to  accuse  a  Brother  without  produc- 
ing any  serious  proof  in  support  of  his  monstrous  allegation. 
He  had  done  worse:  he  had  denounced  as  that  Brother's 
accomplices  both  his  superiors  and  other  members  of  the  re- 
ligious Orders,  including  even  one  of  high  personality,  be- 
fore whom  all  honest  folk  bowed  with  respect.  Religion 
was  outraged,  anarchist  passions  were  let  loose,  those  who 
acknowledged  neither  God  nor  patriotic  feeling  would  fain 
precipitate  the  country  into  an  abyss.  For  three  hours  La 
Bissonniere  went  on  denouncing  the  enemies  of  society  in 
flowery  language,  drawing  his  little  figure  erect,  as  if  he 
felt  he  were  at  last  rising  to  the  high  destiny  to  which  his 
ambition  aspired.  As  he  finished  he  became  ironical;  he 
wished  to  know  if  the  fact  of  being  a  Jew  sufficed  to  make 
a  man  innocent;  and  then  he  asked  the  jury  for  all  its 
severity,  for  the  head  of  the  wretch  who  had  degraded  and 
murdered  a  little  child.  Frantic  applause  burst  forth,  and 
Delbos,  by  his  vehement  rejoinder  full  of  exasperation,  only 
drew  on  himself  a  fresh  tempest  of  insults  and  threats. 

It  was  seven  o'clock  in  the  evening  when  the  jurors  retired 
to  consider  their  verdict.  As  the  questions  put  to  them  by 


I2O  TRUTH 

the  Court  were  few  in  number,  it  was  hoped  that  matters 
would  be  finished  in  less  than  an  hour,  and  that  one  might 
then  go  off  to  dine.  Night  had  fallen,  and  the  few  big 
lamps  placed  on  the  tables  did  not  suffice  to  illumine  the 
great  hall.  Candles,  which  looked  like  church  tapers,  had 
been  set  up  in  front  of  the  newspaper  reporters,  who  were 
still  working.  The  atmosphere  was  hot  and  murky,  but  not 
a  lady  quitted  her  seat,  the  crowd  stubbornly  remained 
there,  phantom-like  in  places  according  to  the  play  of  the 
lights,  which  threw  great  tragic  shadows  around.  All  gave 
full  rein  to  their  passions,  there  was  a  deafening  uproar  of 
voices,  with  an  agitation,  a  seething  and  bubbling,  as  in 
some  fermenting  vat.  The  few  Simonists  were  triumphant; 
they  declared  it  would  be  impossible  for  the  jury  to  convict. 
And,  in  spite  of  the  noisy  applause  bestowed  on  La  Bisson- 
niere's  reply,  the  anti-Simonists,  who  crowded  the  hall, 
showed  themselves  nervous,  trembling  lest  the  expiatory  vic- 
tim should  escape  them.  It  was  asserted  that  Jacquin,  the 
foreman  of  the  jury,  had  spoken  to  somebody  of  the  anguish 
he  felt  in  presence  of  the  absolute  lack  of  proofs.  And 
three  other  jurymen  were  mentioned  as  having  appeared 
favourable  to  the  prisoner.  Acquittal  became  possible. 
Thus  there  was  angry  waiting,  waiting  which  lasted  and 
lasted,  contrary  to  all  previous  expectations.  Eight  o'clock 
struck,  nine  o'clock  struck,  and  still  the  jurors  did  not  re- 
turn. They  had  been  shut  up  for  two  hours,  unable,  no 
doubt,  to  come  to  an  agreement.  This  only  increased  the 
general  uncertainty,  and,  although  the  door  of  the  jury's 
retiring  room  was  carefully  closed,  rumours  came  from  it, 
nobody  knew  how,  raising  the  agitation  of  the  ravenous, 
extenuated,  impatient  throng  to  a  climax. 

All  at  once  it  was  learnt  that  the  foreman,  acting  for  him- 
self and  his  colleagues,  had  begged  the  presiding  judge  to 
go  to  them.  According  to  another  version  it  was  the  judge 
who  had  placed  himself  at  their  disposal,  insisting  to  see 
them,  which  seemed  a  scarcely  correct  proceeding.  How- 
ever, the  waiting  began  once  more,  long  minutes  went  by. 
What  could  the  judge  be  doing  with  the  jurors?  Legally  he 
might  only  acquaint  them  with  the  dispositions  of  the  law, 
should  they  be  ignorant  of  the  consequences  of  their  deci- 
sion. But  the  delay  which  was  taking  place  appeared  very 
long  for  a  simple  explanation  of  that  kind ;  and,  indeed,  a 
fresh  rumour  suddenly  spread  among  Gragnon's  intimates, 
who  did  not  seem  at  all  struck  by  the  enormity  of  such  a 


TRUTH  121 

story.  It  was  to  the  effect  that  a  document  had  reached  the 
judge  after  the  close  of  the  proceedings,  and  that  he  had 
found  it  absolutely  necessary  to  lay  it  before  the  jurymen, 
though  the  prisoner  and  his  counsel  were  not  present.  How- 
ever, ten  o'clock  struck,  and  at  last  the  jury  reappeared. 

Then,  in  the  anxious  and  suddenly  silent  hall,  when 
the  judges  had  returned  and  taken  their  seats,  their  robes 
setting  red  blotches  against  the  background  of  shifting  dark- 
ness, architect  Jacquin,  the  foreman,  arose.  His  face,  dis- 
tinctly seen,  for  the  light  of  a  lamp  fell  on  it,  was  very  pale. 
And  it  was  in  a  somewhat  weak  voice  that  he  pronounced 
the  customary  formula.  The  jury's  answer  was  'yes'  to  all 
the  questions,  but  it  granted  the  admission  of  extenuating 
circumstances,  illogically  of  course,  and  with  the  sole  object 
of  avoiding  the  capital  penalty.  The  penalty,  in  the  cir- 
cumstances, was  penal  servitude  for  life,  and  sentence  was 
pronounced  by  President  Gragnon  with  the  air  of  a  well-sat- 
isfied jolly  dog  and  the  jeering  nasal  accent  habitual  to  him. 
The  Procureur  de  la  Re'publique,  La  Bissonniere,  picked  up 
his  papers  with  a  quick  gesture,  like  a  man  relieved  and  de- 
lighted at  having  secured  his  desire.  From  the  audience 
frantic  applause  had  risen  immediately — the  loud  baying  of 
hungry  hounds,  to  whom  the  long-pursued  quarry  was  at 
last  flung.  It  was  like  the  delirium  of  cannibals  gorging 
themselves  with  human  flesh.  And  yet  amid  that  tumult, 
fraught  with  horrid  savagery,  above  all  the  ferocious  baying, 
there  rose  a  cry — Simon's  unceasing  cry,  '  I  am  innocent! 
I  am  innocent ! ' — a  loud  and  stubborn  call  which  sowed 
truth  in  worthy  hearts,  whilst  Advocate  Delbos,  with  tears 
springing  to  his  eyes,  leant  towards  the  condemned  man  and 
embraced  him  like  a  brother. 

David,  who  had  abstained  from  appearing  in  court,  in 
order  that  he  might  give  no  occasion  for  an  increase  of  anti- 
Semite  hatred,  awaited  the  result  at  Delbos's  rooms  in  the 
Rue  Fontanier.  Until  ten  o'clock  he  remained  counting  the 
minutes,  consumed  by  the  most  torturing  fever,  knowing 
not  whether  he  ought  to  rejoice  or  despair  at  such  delay. 
He  continually  went  to  the  window  to  lean  out,  and  listen 
to  the  sounds  in  the  distance.  And  the  very  atmosphere  of 
the  street,  and  the  exclamations  of  a  few  people  passing, 
had  already  imparted  to  him  the  fatal  tidings,  when  Marc 
arrived,  sobbing,  exhausted,  and  confirmed  them.  Salvan 
accompanied  Marc — Salvan,  whom  the  young  man  had  met 
on  quitting  the  court,  and  who  was  also  beside  himself. 


122  TRUTH 

There  came  an  hour  of  tragic  despair,  of  utter  collapse, 
when  all  that  was  good  and  just  seemed  to  be  engulfed  for 
ever;  and  when  Delbos,  after  an  interview  with  Simon, 
whom  he  had  found  stricken  yet  still  erect,  arrived  in  his 
turn,  he  could  only  cast  himself  on  David's  neck  and  em- 
brace him,  even  as  he  had  embraced  his  brother  yonder. 

'  Ah !  weep,  my  friend ! '  he  cried.     '  It  is  the  greatest  in- 
iquity of  the  century ! ' 


IV 

ON  his  return  to  Jonville  after  the  vacation  that  year, 
Marc  had  found  himself  engaged  in  another 
struggle,  one  having  no  connection  with  Simon's 
case.  His  adversary,  Abbe  Cognasse,  the  parish  priest, 
anxious  to  get  him  into  difficulties,  had  decided  to  make  an 
effort  to  win  over  the  village  Mayor,  one  Martineau,  a  peas- 
ant, through  the  latter's  wife,  '  the  beautiful  Martineau,'  as 
she  was  called. 

Abbe  Cognasse  was  a  terrible  man,  tall,  lean,  and  angu- 
lar, with  a  determined  chin,  and  a  sharp  nose  under  a  low 
brow  and  a  thick  mane  of  dark  hair.  His  eyes  glowed  with 
aggressive  fire;  his  knotty  hands,  which  he  seldom  washed, 
seemed  made  expressly  for  the  purpose  of  throttling  those 
who  dared  to  resist  him.  Forty  years  of  age,  he  kept  one 
servant,  Palmyre,  an  old  maid  of  sixty,  who  was  inclined  to 
be  humpbacked  and  who  was  yet  more  terrible  than  her  mas- 
ter, so  miserly  and  harsh  indeed  that  she  was  regarded  as 
the  terror  of  the  district.  The  priest  was  said  to  lead  a 
chaste  life,  but  he  ate  a  great  deal  and  he  drank  very  copi- 
ously, though  without  intoxicating  himself.  A  peasant's 
son,  and  therefore  narrow  and  stubborn  in  his  opinions,  he 
always  insisted  upon  his  rights  and  his  dues,  never  forego- 
ing a  single  copper  of  the  latter,  even  when  the  poorest  of 
his  parishioners  was  in  question.  Thus  he  was  very  anxious 
to  hold  Mayor  Martineau  in  his  power  in  order  to  become 
the  real  master  of  the  commune,  and  thereby  increase  his 
own  profits  as  well  as  assure  the  triumph  of  religion.  As 
for  his  quarrel  with  Marc,  this  had  arisen  over  a  sum  of 
thirty  francs  a  year  which  the  parish  had  arranged  to  pay 
the  schoolmaster  for  ringing  the  church  bell,  and  which 
Marc,  for  a  time,  duly  received,  although  he  absolutely  re- 
fused to  put  his  hands  to  the  bell-rope. 

Martineau  was  not  easily  won  over  when  he  found  himself 
supported.  Of  the  same  age  as  the  priest,  square  of  face 
and  sturdy  of  build,  ruddy  and  bright-eyed,  he  spoke  little 

123 


124  TRUTH 

and  evinced  great  caution.  He  was  said  to  be  the  wealthiest 
cultivator  of  the  commune,  and,  his  extensive  property  gain- 
ing him  the  favour  of  his  fellow  parishioners,  he  had  been 
Mayor  of  Jonville  for  ten  years  past.  Scarcely  knowing  how 
to  read  and  write,  he  did  not  care  to  pronounce  openly  be- 
tween the  Church  and  the  school;  he  thought  it  best  to 
affect  neutrality,  though  he  always  ended  by  siding  with 
one  or  the  other,  according  whether  he  felt  the  priest  or  the 
schoolmaster  to  be  the  stronger.  In  the  depths  of  his  heart 
he  was  inclined  to  favour  the  latter,  for  in  his  veins  coursed 
some  of  that  ancient  rancour  which  animates  the  French 
peasant  against  the  priest,  whom  he  regards  as  an  idle  man 
bent  on  enjoying  life,  one  indeed  who  does  nothing  and  yet 
requires  to  be  paid,  and  who  captures  the  wives  and  daugh- 
ters of  his  parishioners  in  the  name  of  an  invisible,  jealous 
and  ever-threatening  Deity.  But  if  Martineau  did  not  fol- 
low the  Church  observances,  he  had  never  opposed  his  curt 
without  assistance,  for  he  held  that  the  black-gowns  were 
extremely  clever,  whatever  else  might  be  said  about  them. 
Thus  it  was  largely  because  Marc  displayed  so  much  quiet 
energy  and  intelligence  that  Martineau  had  joined  his  side, 
allowing  him  to  go  forward  without  pledging  himself  too 
much. 

But  it  occurred  to  Abbe"  Cognasse  to  make  use  of  the 
Mayor's  wife,  the  beautiful  Martineau,  who,  although  she 
was  not  one  of  his  penitents,  attended  church  very  regularly 
on  Sundays  and  festivals.  Very  dark,  with  large  eyes,  a 
fresh  mouth,  and  a  buxom  figure,  she  was  coquettishly  in- 
clined, fond  of  exhibiting  a  new  gown,  of  airing  a  lace  cap, 
of  arraying  herself  in  her  gold  jewellery.  Her  assiduity  at 
Mass  was  due  to  that  alone.  Church-going  had  become  her 
diversion.  There  was  no  other  spot  whither  she  could  re- 
pair in  full  dress,  to  show  herself,  and  pass  her  neighbours 
in  review.  Indeed,  in  that  village  of  less  than  eight  hund- 
red souls,  for  lack  of  any  other  meeting  place  and  occa- 
sion for  ceremony  and  festival,  the  damp  little  nave  of  the 
church,  where  Mass  was  so  hastily  celebrated,  became  the 
drawing-room,  the  theatre,  the  one  general  parade  and  rec- 
reation ground  of  the  women  who  were  desirous  of  pleasing. 
Those  who  went  thither  were  influenced  very  little  by  faith ; 
their  craving  was  to  wear  their  Sunday  finery  and  to  show 
themselves.  Their  mothers  had  done  it,  their  daughters 
would  do  it  also;  it  was  the  general  custom.  As  for  Ma- 
dame Martineau,  on  being  approached  and  flattered  by 


TRUTH  125 

Abb£  Cognasse,  she  endeavoured  to  convince  her  husband 
that  the  priest  was  right  in  the  matter  of  the  thirty  francs. 
But  Martineau  sharply  bade  her  hold  her  tongue  and  re- 
turn to  her  cows,  for  he  belonged  to  the  old  school,  and  did 
not  allow  women  to  meddle  in  matters  which  concerned  men. 

In  itself  the  story  of  the  thirty  francs  was  very  simple.  Ever 
since  there  had  been  a  schoolmaster  at  Jonville  he  had  been 
paid  that  sum  annually  to  ring  the  church  bell.  But  Marc, 
being  unwilling  to  do  so,  ended  by  persuading  the  parish 
council  to  devote  the  money  to  another  purpose.  If  the 
priest  needed  a  bellringer  he  could  surely  pay  for  one  himself. 
But  the  old  clock  in  the  church  steeple  was  in  a  sad  condi- 
tion, constantly  losing  time,  and  a  former  clockmaker,  dwel- 
ling in  the  vicinity,  was  willing  to  repair  it  and  keep  it  in 
working  order  for  that  very  sum  of  thirty  francs  a  year.  It 
was  with  some  little  malice  that  Marc  suggested  the  accept- 
ance of  the  offer,  while  the  peasants  reflected  and  sounded 
themselves,  wondering  whether  their  interests  would  be 
best  served  by  having  the  bell  rung  for  Mass,  or  by  having 
a  clock  to  tell  them  the  correct  time.  As  for  ensuring  both 
services  by  voting  an  additional  thirty  francs,  they  never 
gave  that  point  a  moment's  thought,  for  their  policy  was  to 
burden  the  parish  with  no  useless  expense  whatever.  Never- 
theless, there  was  a  fine  tussle,  in  which  the  influence  of  the 
priest  and  that  of  the  schoolmaster  came  into  collision,  the 
latter  finally  remaining  victorious,  in  spite  of  the  maledic- 
tions which  Abbe  Cognasse,  in  his  sermons,  heaped  on  the 
impious  folk  who,  by  silencing  the  bell,  wished  to  silence 
the  call  of  religion.  One  fine  Sunday  morning,  however, 
after  a  month's  quietude,  a  succession  of  furious  peals  re- 
sounded from  the  church  steeple;  and  people  then  discov- 
ered that  the  priest's  old  servant,  the  terrible  Palmyre,  was 
ringing  the  bell  with  all  the  furious  strength  of  her  wiry  little 
arms. 

Abb£  Cognasse  understood  that  the  Mayor  was  escaping 
him,  and,  though  inwardly  aglow  with  anger,  he  henceforth 
became  prudent,  displaying  all  the  flexible  craft  of  his  cloth. 
Then,  as  Martineau  grew  conscious  of  the  firmness  of  the 
hands  to  which  he  had  confided  himself,  he  more  and  more 
frequently  consulted  Marc,  who  at  last  felt  that  he  was 
master.  As  parish  clerk  the  young  man  ended  by  discreetly 
guiding  the  council,  duly  respecting  the  self-esteem  of  its 
members  and  remaining  in  the  background,  content  to  in- 
spire those  peasants,  whose  chief  desire  was  for  quietude 


126  TRUTH 

and  prosperity,  with  intelligence,  sense,  and  healthy  deter- 
mination. Under  the  young  man's  auspices  education 
spread,  casting  light  upon  all  things,  destroying  foolish  su- 
perstitions, and  driving  not  only  mental  poverty  but  also  the 
poverty  of  homes  away;  for  wealth  comes  with  knowledge. 
Never  indeed  had  Jonville  made  so  much  progress;  it  was 
becoming  the  most  prosperous  and  the  happiest  parish  of 
the  department. 

It  must  be  said  that  Marc  was  greatly  assisted  in  his  work 
by  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  the  mistress  of  the  girls'  school, 
which  a  wall  alone  separated  from  the  boys'  school,  where 
the  young  man  was  master.  Short  and  dark,  quite  destitute 
of  beauty,  but  very  charming,  with  a  broad  face,  a  full 
kindly  mouth,  fine  black  eyes  glowing  with  tenderness  and 
abnegation  beneath  a  lofty  and  bossy  brow,  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline  was  all  intelligence,  sense,  healthy  and  upright 
determination,  like  one  born  to  educate  and  emancipate  the 
little  girls  confided  to  her.  She  came  from  that  Training 
School  of  Fontenay-aux-Roses  which,  thanks  to  the  heart 
and  mind  of  an  illustrious  master,  has  already  sent  forth  a 
whole  cohort  of  able  pioneers,  whose  mission  it  is  to  form 
the  wives  and  mothers  of  to-morrow.  And  if,  at  six  and 
twenty  years  of  age,  the  young  woman  was  already  mistress 
of  a  school,  it  was  thanks  to  her  intelligent  superiors,  Salvan 
and  Le  Barazer,  who  were  giving  her  a  trial  in  that  lonely 
village  in  order  to  ascertain  if  she  would  turn  out  the  good 
work  which  they  awaited.  At  heart  they  felt  some  anxiety 
on  account  of  her  advanced  opinions,  fearing  that  she  might 
indispose  her  pupils'  parents  by  her  anti-clerical  views,  her 
conviction  that  woman  would  only  bring  happiness  to  the 
world  when  she  was  at  last  delivered  from  the  priests.  But 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline  behaved  with  great  sense  and  good 
humour,  and  if  she  did  not  take  her  girls  to  Mass,  she 
treated  them  in  such  a  motherly  fashion,  taught  them  and 
cared  for  them  so  affectionately,  that  the  peasants  became 
deeply  attached  to  her.  Thus  she  greatly  helped  Marc  in 
his  work  by  proving  that,  although  one  may  not  go  to  Mass, 
and  although  one  may  set  one's  belief  more  particularly  in 
human  work  and  conscientiousness,  one  may  nevertheless 
become  the  most  intelligent,  most  upright,  and  kindly 
woman  in  the  world. 

But  Abb£  Cognasse,  whatever  his  repulse  at  Jonville,  fully 
revenged  himself  at  Le  Moreux,  a  little  parish  some  two 
and  a  half  miles  distant,  which,  having  no  priest  of  its  own, 


TRUTH  127 

was  dependent  upon  him.  If,  however,  there  were  less  than 
two  hundred  inhabitants  at  Le  Moreux,  and  if  the  village 
was  hidden  away  among  the  hills,  the  difficult  roads  cutting 
it  off  from  frequent  intercourse  with  the  rest  of  the  world, 
on  the  other  hand  it  was  by  no  means  a  wretched  spot.  Its 
only  poor  family  was  that  of  its  schoolmaster;  all  the  others 
possessed  fertile  lands,  and  lived  with  hardly  a  care  amid 
the  sleepy  quietude  of  routine.  Saleur,  the  Mayor,  a  short 
stout  man  with  a  bovine  muzzle  and  little  or  no  neck,  had 
been  a  grazier,  and  had  suddenly  made  a  fortune  by  selling 
his  meadow  lands,  herds,  and  flocks  at  a  high  price  to  a 
company,  which  wished  to  syndicate  all  the  stock-raising  in 
the  department.  Since  then  he  had  transformed  his  house 
into  a  coquettish  villa,  and  had  become  a  bourgeois,  sending 
his  son  Honor£  to  the  Beaumont  Lyc£e  before  letting  him 
go  as  a  student  to  Paris.  Although  the  people  of  Moreux 
were  jealous  of  Saleur,  they  reappointed  him  Mayor  at  each 
election,  for  the  all-sufficient  reason  that,  having  to  do  no- 
thing for  a  living,  he  was  well  able  to  attend  to  the  parish 
affairs.  He,  however,  cast  them  upon  the  shoulders  of 
Fe>ou,  the  schoolmaster,  who  as  parish  clerk  received  an 
annual  salary  of  one  hundred  and  eighty  francs,1  in  return 
for  which  he  had  to  perform  no  little  work,  keep  the  regis- 
ters, draw  up  reports,  write  letters,  and  attend  to  something 
or  other  at  almost  every  moment. 

Saleur  was  dense  and  heavy,  crassly  ignorant,  scarce  able 
to  sign  his  name,  and,  though  not  harsh  at  bottom,  he 
treated  Ferou  as  if  the  latter  were  a  mere  writing  machine, 
regarding  him  indeed  with  the  quiet  contempt  of  a  man  who 
had  needed  nothing  like  so  much  learning  to  make  his  for- 
tune and  live  at  his  ease.  Moreover,  the  Mayor  bore  the 
schoolmaster  a  grudge  for  having  quarrelled  with  Abb£ 
Cognasse  by  refusing  to  take  his  pupils  to  church,  and  sing 
as  a  choirman.  It  was  not  that  Saleur  himself  followed  the 
observances  of  the  Church;  for  it  was  merely  as  a  supporter 
of  the  cause  of  Jorder  that  he  went  to  Mass  with  his  wife,  a 
lean,  insignificant,  red-haired  woman,  who  was  neither  de- 
vout nor  coquettish,  but  who  also  regarded  attendance  at 
church  on  Sundays  as  a  social  duty.  Thus  Saleur's  grudge 
against  Ferou  arose  simply  from  the  circumstance  that  the 
schoolmaster's  rebellious  attitude  aggravated  the  quarrels 
which  were  perpetually  occurring  between  the  priest  of 
Jonville  and  the  inhabitants  of  Le  Moreux. 
1  About  $35. 


128  TRUTH 

For  instance,  the  latter  complained  that  the  priest  treated 
them  with  little  or  no  respect,  that  they  only  obtained  from 
him  some  scraps  of  Masses,  bestowed  on  them  like  alms, 
that  they  were  compelled  to  send  their  children  to  Jonville 
for  the  catechism  classes  and  the  first  Communion,  and  that 
all  sorts  of  difficulties  were  placed  in  their  way  with  respect 
to  weddings,  baptisms,  and  churchings;  whereupon  the  in- 
furiated Abb£  retorted  that  when  folk  wished  to  obtain 
favours  from  Heaven  their  first  duty  was  to  provide  them- 
selves with  a  priest  of  their  own.  On  weekdays,  when  it 
was  invariably  closed,  the  church  of  Le  Moreux  looked  like 
a  dismal  empty  barn;  but  for  half  an  hour  every  Sunday 
Abbe  Cognasse  swept  down  on  it  like  a  tempest,  feared  by 
everybody  and  terrorising  the  parish  with  his  capriciousness 
and  his  violence. 

Marc,  who  was  acquainted  with  the  situation,  could  not 
think  of  F£rou  without  feeling  much  compassionate  sym- 
pathy. In  that  well-to-do  village  of  Le  Moreux,  he,  the 
schoolmaster,  alone  was  unable  to  satisfy  his  hunger.  The 
horrible  misery  which  assails  so  many  poor  schoolmasters 
became  in  his  case  most  tragically  acute.  He  had  made  his 
debut  at  Maillebois  as  an  assistant  teacher,  with  a  salary  of 
nine  hundred  francs,1  when  he  was  twenty-four  years  of  age. 
And  now,  after  six  years'  work,  exiled  to  Le  Moreux  on  ac- 
count of  his  bitter  disposition,  he  still  only  received  a  thou- 
sand francs  a  year,  or,  allowing  for  the  amount  deducted  for 
the  pension  fund,  sixty-five  francs  a  month — that  is  to  say, 
fifty-two  sous  a  day.2  Yet  he  had  a  wife  and  three  little 
girls  to  keep!  Black  misery  reigned  in  the  damp  old  hovel 
which  served  as  a  school,  the  food  was  often  such  as  dogs 
would  have  scorned  to  touch,  the  girls  went  about  shoeless, 
the  wife  did  not  possess  a  decent  gown.  And  indebtedness 
was  always  increasing,  the  threatening,  deadly  indebtedness 
in  which  so  many  humble  servants  of  the  State  become  en- 
gulfed, while  those  at  the  head  of  affairs  are  often  wickedly 
paid  six  times  as  much  as  their  services  deserve. 

How  great  was  the  courage,  the  heroism  which  Fe>ou 
needed  to  try  to  hide  that  misery,  to  remain  erect  in  his 
threadbare  frock-coat,  to  hold  his  rank  as  a  man  of  let- 
ters, a  monsieur  who  by  the  regulations  was  forbidden  to 
carry  on  any  commercial  calling  whatever.  Morning  after 
morning  the  struggle  began  afresh,  night  was  only  reached 
by  force  of  energy  and  will.  That  shepherd's  son,  whose 

1  About  $175  per  annum.  *  About  50  cents. 


TRUTH  129 

keenly  intelligent  mind  had  retained  great  independence, 
discharged  his  duties  passionately,  as  often  as  not  without 
any  show  of  resignation.  His  wife,  a  stout  and  pleasant 
blonde,  formerly  assistant  to  her  aunt,  who  kept  a  shop  at 
Maillebois,  where  Fe>ou  had  met  and  married  her  honestly 
enough,  after  getting  her  into  trouble,  gave  him  it  is  true 
some  little  help,  attending  for  instance  to  the  girls,  teaching 
them  to  read  and  sew,  while  he  had  on  his  hands  the  ill- 
bred,  dense,  and  malicious  boys.  Under  all  the  circum- 
stances was  it  surprising  that  he  sometimes  yielded  to  the 
discouragement  which  comes  from  ungrateful  toil,  to  the 
sudden  rebellion  of  his  suffering  heart?  Born  poor,  he  had 
always  suffered  from  poverty,  ill  fed  and  ill  clad,  and  now 
that  he  was  a  monsieur  his  poverty  became  the  more  fright- 
fully bitter.  Around  him  he  saw  only  happy  folk,  peasants 
possessed  of  lands,  able  to  eat  their  fill,  proud  of  the  crown- 
pieces  they  had  put  by.  Most  of  them  were  brutish, 
scarcely  able  to  write.  They  invariably  needed  his  help 
when  a  letter  had  to  be  drafted.  Yet  he,  the  only  man  of 
intellect,  education,  and  culture  among  them,  often  lacked 
a  franc  to  buy  himself  a  couple  of  new  collars  or  to  pay  for 
the  repair  of  his  old  shoes.  And  the  others  treated  him  as  a 
lackey,  overwhelmed  him  with  scorn,  jeered  at  his  ragged 
coat,  of  which,  at  heart,  they  were  jealous. 

But  the  comparison  which  they  drew  between  him,  the 
schoolmaster,  and  Abbe  Cognasse,  the  priest,  was  par- 
ticularly unfavourable  to  Fe"rou.  The  schoolmaster  was  so 
poorly  paid  and  so  wretched,  he  was  treated  impertinently 
by  his  pupils,  and  disdainfully  by  their  parents;  he  was  de- 
stitute, too,  of  all  authority,  unsupported  by  his  superiors; 
whereas  the  priest,  far  more  liberally  remunerated,  receiv- 
ing moreover  all  sorts  of  presents  in  addition  to  his  stipend, 
was  backed  up  by  his  bishop  and  petted  by  the  devout, 
whilst  as  for  authority  he  spoke  like  one  who  had  only  to 
address  himself  to  his  Master  to  bring  as  he  pleased  thunder, 
or  rain,  or  sunshine  on  the  crops.  Thus,  although  Abb£ 
Cognasse  was  always  quarrelling  with  the  folk  of  Le  Moreux, 
and  although  they  had  lost  their  faith  and  had  almost  ceased 
to  follow  the  observances  of  religion,  he  still  reigned  over 
them.  And  thus,  on  the  other  hand,  schoolmaster  Fe>ou, 
tortured  by  his  life  of  indigence,  gorged  with  bitterness, 
turned  into  a  Socialist  by  sheer  force  of  circumstances,  drew 
bad  reports  upon  himself  by  expressing  subversive  views 
with  respect  to  that  social  system  which  condemned  him, 


130  TRUTH 

the  representative  of  intelligence  and  knowledge,  to  starve, 
whilst  all  around  him  stupidity  and  ignorance  possessed  and 
enjoyed. 

The  winter  proved  very  severe  that  year.  Already  in 
November  Jonville  and  Le  Moreux  were  buried  in  snow  and 
ice.  Marc  heard  that  two  of  Fe>ou's  little  girls  were  ill  and 
that  their  father  was  scarcely  able  to  provide  them  with 
broth.  He  strove  to  assist  him,  but  he  himself  was  very 
poor,  and  had  to  obtain  Mademoiselle  Mazeline's  help  in 
the  good  work.  Like  Ferou  indeed,  Marc,  as  schoolmaster, 
only  received  a  salary  of  one  thousand  francs  a  year,  but 
his  duties  as  parish  clerk  were  better  remunerated  than  his 
colleague's.  Again,  the  building  in  which  the  Jonville  boys' 
and  girls'  schools  were  lodged — the  former  village  parson- 
age, restored  and  enlarged — was  more  healthy  than  that  of 
Le  Moreux.  Nevertheless,  the  young  man  hitherto  had 
only  made  both  ends  meet  by  the  liberality  of  Madame  Du- 
parque,  his  wife's  grandmother,  who  sent  frocks  for  Louise, 
linen  for  Genevieve,  besides  little  presents  in  money  at  cer- 
tain seasons  of  the  year.  Since  the  Simon  case,  however, 
she  had  given  nothing,  and  Marc  was  almost  relieved,  for 
the  harsh  words  accompanying  each  of  her  presents  had 
often  hurt  his  feelings.  But  how  straitened  did  the  home 
now  become,  and  what  toil,  courage,  and  economy  were 
needed  to  live  and  discharge  one's  office  with  dignity! 

Marc,  who  loved  his  profession,  had  returned  to  it  with  a 
kind  of  dolorous  ardour,  and  nobody,  on  seeing  him  at 
work,  punctually  discharging  each  duty  through  those  first 
winter  months  so  hard  to  the  poor,  had  any  suspicion  of  the 
sombre  grief,  the  bitter  despair,  which  he  hid  so  jealously 
beneath  a  brave  assumption  of  tranquillity.  He  had  re- 
mained sorely  hurt  ever  since  the  condemnation  of  Simon; 
the  wound  dealt  him  by  that  monstrous  iniquity  would  not 
heal.  In  moments  of  privacy  he  lapsed  into  black  reveries, 
and  Genevieve  often  heard  him  exclaim:  'It  is  frightful! 
I  thought  I  knew  my  country,  and  I  did  not  know  it! ' 

Yes,  how  had  it  been  possible  for  such  an  infamous  thing 
to  take  place  in  France,  the  France  of  the  Great  Revolu- 
tion, which  Marc  had  regarded  hitherto  as  the  deliverer  and 
justiciar  promised  to  the  world?  He  loved  his  country 
dearly  for  its  generosity,  for  its  independent  courage,  for  all 
the  noble  and  great  work  which  he  thought  it  was  destined 
to  accomplish.  And  now  it  allowed — nay,  actually  de- 
manded— the  condemnation  of  an  innocent  man !  And  it 


TRUTH  131 

reverted  to  the  old-time  imbecility,  the  barbarity  of  ancient 
days!  Had  it  been  changed,  had  it  been  poisoned  to  bring 
about  that  dementia?  Grief  and  shame  haunted  him;  it 
was  as  if  he  himself  had  had  a  share  in  that  crime.  And 
with  his  eager  passion  for  truth  and  his  craving  to  impose  it 
upon  all,  he  felt  intolerable  discomfort  when  he  saw  false- 
hood triumph,  and  found  himself  powerless  to  fight  and  de- 
stroy it  by  shouting  aloud  the  truth  which  he  had  sought  so 
zealously.  He  lived  through  the  affair  again,  he  still  sought 
and  sought,  without  discovering  anything  more,  so  great  was 
the  tangle  created  by  invisible  hands.  And  after  his  long 
hours  of  teaching,  such  despair  at  times  came  over  him  in 
the  evening  that  Genevieve  gently  cast  her  arms  about  him 
and  kissed  him  tenderly,  desirous  of  giving  him  a  little 
comfort. 

'You  will  make  yourself  ill,  my  poor  friend,'  she  said. 
'  Don't  think  of  those  sad  things  any  more.' 

Tears  came  to  his  eyes,  so  deeply  was  he  touched.  In 
his  turn,  he  kissed  her  tenderly.  '  Yes,  yes,'  he  answered, 
'  you  are  right,  one  must  be  brave.  But  how  can  I  help  it? 
I  cannot  prevent  myself  from  thinking,  and  it  is  great 
torment.' 

Then  smiling,  and  raising  a  finger  to  her  lips,  she  led  him 
to  the  cot  where  little  Louise  was  already  fast  asleep.  '  You 
must  only  think  of  our  darling;  you  must  say  to  yourself 
that  we  are  working  for  her.  She  will  be  happy  if  we  are.' 

'  Yes,  that  would  be  the  more  sensible  course.  But,  then, 
is  not  our  happiness  to  come  from  the  happiness  of  all  ? ' 

Genevieve  had  evinced  much  sense  and  affection  through- 
out the  affair.  She  had  been  grieved  by  the  demeanour  of 
her  grandmother  towards  her  husband,  to  whom,  during  the 
last  days  spent  at  Maillebois,  even  Pelagic,  with  spiteful 
affectation,  had  never  spoken.  Thus,  when  the  young  peo- 
ple had  quitted  the  house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins,  the 
parting  had  been  a  very  cold  one;  and  since  that  time  Gen- 
evieve had  contented  herself  with  calling  on  her  relations  at 
long  intervals,  by  way  of  avoiding  a  complete  rupture.  Now 
that  she  was  back  at  Jonville  she  had  again  ceased  to  attend 
Mass,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  give  Abbe"  Cognasse  any  op- 
portunity to  approach  her  and  endeavour  to  undermine 
her  affection  for  her  husband.  Evincing  no  interest  in  the 
quarrel  between  the  Church  and  the  school,  she  was  content 
to  cling  to  Marc's  neck;  and,  like  a  woman  who  has  given 
herself  entirely  to  the  loved  one,  it  was  in  his  arms  that  she 


132  TRUTH 

sought  a  refuge,  even  when  heredity  and  the  effects  of  a 
Catholic  education  prevented  her  from  fully  approving  his 
actions.  Perhaps  in  the  Simon  affair  she  did  not  think  as 
he  did,  but  she  knew  how  loyal,  generous,  and  just  he  was, 
and  she  could  not  blame  him  for  acting  according  to  his 
conscience.  Nevertheless,  like  a  sensible  woman,  she  oc- 
casionally recalled  him  to  prudence.  What  would  have  be- 
come of  them  and  their  child  if  he  had  compromised  himself 
so  far  as  to  lose  his  position?  At  the  same  time,  they  loved 
each  other  so  much,  they  were  still  so  full  of  passion  one  for 
the  other,  that  no  quarrel  between  them  had  a  chance  of 
becoming  serious.  The  slightest  disagreement  ended  in  an 
embrace,  a  great  quiver,  and  a  rain  of  ardent  kisses. 

'  Ah,  my  dear,  dear  Genevieve,  when  one  has  given  one- 
self, one  can  never  take  oneself  back ! ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  my  dear  Marc,  I  am  yours;  I  know  how  good 
you  are;  do  with  me  as  you  please.' 

He  allowed  her  all  freedom.  Had  she  gone  to  Mass  he 
would  not  have  tried  to  prevent  her.  Whatever  might  be 
his  own  views,  he  wished  to  respect  her  liberty  of  conscience. 
And,  as  christening  was  a  usual  thing,  he  had  not  thought 
of  opposing  the  baptism  of  little  Louise.  When  at  times  he 
felt  worried  by  the  divergence  of  religious  views,  he  asked 
himself  if  love  did  not  suffice  as  a  remedy  for  everything,  if 
one  did  not  always  end  by  agreeing,  whatever  catastrophe 
might  befall,  when  every  evening  there  came  the  closest 
union,  husband  and  wife  having  but  one  heart  and  one 
being. 

If  the  Simon  affair  continued  to  haunt  Marc,  it  was  be- 
cause he  was  unable  to  cease  occupying  himself  with  it.  He 
had  vowed  that  he  would  never  rest  until  he  should  discover 
the  real  culprit;  and  he  kept  his  word,  influenced  more  by 
passion  than  by  strict  duty.  On  Thursdays,  when  his  after- 
noons were  free,  he  hastened  to  Maillebois  to  call  at  the 
Lehmanns'  dark  and  dismal  shop  in  the  Rue  du  Trou.  The 
condemnation  of  Simon  had  fallen  on  that  wretched  dwell- 
ing like  a  thunderbolt.  Public  execration  seemed  to  cast 
the  convict's  family,  his  friends,  and  even  the  few  acquaint- 
ances who  remained  faithful  to  him,  out  of  the  pale  of  hu- 
manity. Lehmann  and  his  wife,  who  evinced  such  wretched 
resignation  to  their  lot,  were  forsaken  by  their  customers, 
and  would  have  starved  had  they  not  secured  some  poorly- 
paid  piecework  for  Parisian  clothiers.  But  it  was  particu- 
larly Madame  Simon,  the  mournful  Rachel,  and  her  little 


TRUTH  133 

children,  Joseph  and  Sarah,  who  suffered  from  the  savage 
hatred  assailing  their  name.  It  had  been  impossible  for  the 
children  to  return  to  school.  The  town-lads  hooted  them, 
pelted  them  with  stones,  and  one  day  the  little  boy  came 
home  with  his  lip  badly  cut  by  a  missile.  As  for  the  mother, 
who  had  assumed  mourning  and  whose  beauty  became  the 
more  dazzling  in  the  plain  black  gown  which  she  always 
wore,  she  spent  her  days  in  weeping,  relying  only  on  some 
prodigy  for  salvation.  Alone  among  the  inmates  of  the 
desolate  house,  amid  the  yielding  grief  of  the  others,  did 
David  remain  erect,  silent  and  active,  still  seeking  and  still 
hoping. 

He  had  allotted  to  himself  a  superhuman  task — that  of 
saving  and  rehabilitating  his  brother.  He  had  sworn  to 
him  at  their  last  interview  that  he  would  dedicate  his  life  to 
the  work  of  penetrating  the  frightful  mystery,  of  discovering 
the  real  murderer,  and  of  dragging  the  truth  into  the  broad 
light  of  day.  Thus  he  had  definitively  placed  the  working 
of  his  sand  and  gravel  pits  in  the  hands  of  a  reliable  man- 
ager, knowing  that  if  he  should  lack  money  he  would  from 
the  outset  find  his  efforts  crippled.  Personally,  he  devoted 
himself  entirely  to  his  search  for  the  truth,  ever  following 
up  the  slightest  clues,  ever  deep  in  the  quest  for  new  facts. 
If  it  had  been  possible  for  his  zeal  to  weaken,  the  letters 
from  Cayenne,  which  his  sister-in-law  at  long  intervals  re- 
ceived from  his  brother,  would  have  sufficed  to  inflame  his 
courage.  Simon's  departure,  his  embarkation  with  other 
unhappy  beings,  the  awful  voyage,  the  arrival  yonder  amid 
all  the  horrors  of  the  penal  settlement — those  were  scorch- 
ing memories  which  threw  David  into  indescribable  agita- 
tion, which  returned  amid  dreadful  shudders  at  each  and 
every  hour.  And  now  came  letters,  doctored  and  ampu- 
tated by  the  officials,  yet  allowing  one  to  detect  beneath 
each  phrase  the  cry  of  one  who  was  enduring  intolerable 
torture,  the  revolt  of  an  innocent  man  for  ever  brooding 
over  his  pretended  crime,  and  at  a  loss  to  understand  why 
it  was  that  he  should  expiate  another's  deed.  Was  not 
madness  at  the  end  of  that  devouring  anguish?  Simon  al- 
luded gently  to  the  thieves  and  assassins,  his  companions; 
and  one  could  divine  that  his  hatred  was  directed  against 
the  keepers,  the  torturers,  who,  uncontrolled,  far  removed 
from  the  civilised  world,  became  like  the  wild  men  of  pri- 
meval caverns,  gloating  over  the  sufferings  they  inflicted 
upon  other  men.  It  was  a  sphere  of  mire  and  blood;  and 


134  TRUTH 

one  evening  a  pardoned  convict  recounted  such  horrible  par- 
ticulars to  David,  in  Marc's  presence,  that  the  two  friends, 
their  bleeding  hearts  wrung  by  terror  and  compassion,  were 
stirred  to  furious  protest  and  cried  their  pain  aloud. 

Unfortunately  the  ceaseless  inquiries,  which  both  David 
and  Marc  prosecuted  with  discreet  stubbornness,  yielded  no 
great  result.  They  had  resolved  to  keep  a  watch  on  the 
Brothers'  school  at  Maillebois,  and  particularly  on  Brother 
Gorgias,  whom  they  still  suspected.  But  a  month  after  the 
trial  all  three  of  the  assistant  Brothers,  Isidore,  Lazarus, 
and  Gorgias,  disappeared  together,  being  sent  to  some  other 
community  at  the  other  end  of  France.  Brother  Fulgence, 
the  director,  alone  remained  at  Maillebois,  where  three  new 
Ignorantines  joined  him.  David  and  Marc  could  draw  no 
positive  conclusions  from  this  incident,  for  the  Brothers 
often  went  from  one  establishment  to  another.  Besides,  as 
all  three  assistants  had  been  removed,  it  was  impossible  to 
tell  to  which  one  of  them  that  removal  was  really  due. 

So  far  as  Maillebois  was  concerned  the  worst  result  of 
Simon's  condemnation  had  been  the  terrible  blow  dealt  to 
the  Communal  school,  from  which  several  families  had 
withdrawn  their  children  in  order  to  confide  them  to  the 
Brothers,  who  had  never  previously  known  such  great  pro- 
sperity. Nowadays  the  victorious  faces  of  priests,  monks, 
and  Brothers  were  met  on  all  sides  in  the  town ;  and  the  new 
master  appointed  to  succeed  Simon,  a  pale  and  puny  little 
fellow  named  Mechain,  seemed  scarcely  the  man  to  resist 
that  invading  tide.  He  was  said  to  be  consumptive,  and  he 
certainly  suffered  a  great  deal  from  the  severity  of  the  win- 
ter, when  he  left  his  boys  largely  in  the  charge  of  Mignot, 
who,  always  at  a  loss  when  he  was  not  guided,  now  took  the 
advice  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire.  She  was  more  than  ever 
on  the  side  of  the  clerical  faction  which  at  present  reigned 
over  the  region ;  and  thus  she  persuaded  Mignot  to  take  the 
boys  to  Mass,  and  even  set  up  a  large  wooden  crucifix  in 
the  class-room.  These  things  were  tolerated  in  official 
spheres,  where  it  was  thought,  perhaps,  that  they  might 
have  a  good  effect  on  certain  families  and  facilitate  the  re- 
turn of  children  to  the  Communal  school.  But,  as  a  mat- 
ter of  fact,  all  Maillebois  was  going  over  to  the  Clericals, 
and  the  crisis  had  become  extremely  serious. 

Marc's  desolation  increased  as  he  observed  the  spirit  of 
ignorance  enthroned  over  the  region.  Simon's  name  had 
become  a  bogie  name;  one  could  not  mention  it  without 


TRUTH  135 

driving  people  wild  with  rage  and  fear.  They  regarded  it 
as  an  accursed  name  which  brought  misfortune — a  name 
that  summed  up  all  human  iniquity.  Silence  ought  to  be 
observed;  no  allusion,  however  slight,  ought  to  be  made  to 
it,  for  otherwise  one  might  draw  the  most  dreadful  catas- 
trophes upon  the  country.  A  few  men  of  sensible  upright 
minds  had  certainly  felt  greatly  disturbed  since  the  trial, 
and  had  even  admitted  the  possibility  of  the  condemned 
man's  innocence;  but  in  presence  of  the  furious  wave  of 
public  opinion  they  no  longer  spoke;  they  even  advised 
their  friends  to  remain  silent.  What  would  be  the  use  of 
protesting,  of  endeavouring  to  secure  justice?  Why  should 
one  expose  oneself  to  utter  ruin  without  rendering  any 
practical  help  to  anybody?  At  each  indication  furnished 
by  circumstances  Marc  felt  stupefied  at  finding  everybody 
crouching  in  falsehood  and  error,  as  in  some  ever-growing 
pond  of  filthy,  slimy,  poisonous  water.  On  various  occasions 
he  happened  to  meet  Bongard  the  farmer,  Doloir  the  mason, 
and  Savin  the  clerk,  and  he  quite  understood  that  all  three 
had  been  minded  to  withdraw  their  children  from  the  Com- 
munal school  and  send  them  to  the  Brothers',  and  that  if  they 
had  abstained  from  doing  so  it  was  only  from  some  dim  fear 
that  they  might  thereby  harm  themselves  with  the  authorities. 
Bongard,  who  kept  very  quiet,  at  a  loss  whether  to  side 
with  the  priests  or  the  government,  ended,  however,  by  relat- 
ing that  the  Jews  spread  the  cattle  plague  through  the  coun- 
try, for  his  two  children  had  seen  a  man  throwing  some  white 
powder  into  a  well.  Doloir  on  his  side  talked  of  an  inter- 
national Jew  syndicate  which  had  been  formed  to  sell 
France  to  Germany,  and  threatened  to  box  the  ears  of 
M^chain,  the  new  schoolmaster,  if  his  boys,  Auguste  and 
Charles,  should  learn  anything  wrong  at  that  Communal 
school  where  children  were  corrupted.  Then  Savin  became 
more  bitter  than  ever,  haunted  at  times  by  the  idea  that  if 
he  vegetated  it  was  because  he  had  not  joined  the  Free- 
masons, and  at  others  covertly  regretting  that  he  had  not 
openly  become  a  partisan  of  the  Church.  At  one  moment 
also  he  declared  the  Simon  affair  to  have  been  a  comedy. 
One  culprit  had  been  sacrificed  to  save  all  the  others  and  to 
hide  what  went  on  in  every  school  of  France,  whether  it 
were  secular  or  religious.  Thus,  to  save  his  children,  Hor- 
tense,  Achille,  and  Philippe,  from  perdition,  he  thought  of 
removing  them  from  school  altogether,  and  allowing  them 
to  grow  up  as  nature  might  direct. 


136  TRUTH 

Marc  listened  to  it  all,  feeling  quite  upset  and  at  a  loss 
to  understand  how  people  of  any  sense  could  reach  such  a 
degree  of  aberration.  There  was  something  more  than  in- 
nate ignorance  in  such  mentality.  It  had  been  created  by 
the  continuous  working  of  all  the  stupid  things  which  were 
currently  said,  by  the  growth  of  popular  prejudices  through 
the  ages,  by  the  virus  of  all  the  superstitions  and  legends 
which  destroyed  men's  reason.  And  how  was  purification 
possible,  how  could  one  cure  those  poor  ailing,  intoxicated 
people  and  endow  them  with  good  health,  intellectually  and 
morally  ? 

Marc  experienced  deep  emotion  one  day  when  he  went 
to  buy  a  schoolbook  of  the  Mesdames  Milhomme,  the 
stationers  in  the  Rue  Courte.  Both  of  them  were  in  the 
shop  with  their  sons,  Madame  Alexander  with  Sebastien, 
and  Madame  Edouard  with  Victor.  Marc  was  served  by 
the  latter  lady,  who,  though  she  seemed  taken  aback  when 
he  suddenly  entered,  promptly  recovered  her  assurance  and 
frowned  with  an  expression  of  harsh  and  egotistical  deter- 
mination. But  Madame  Alexandre  had  risen  quivering,  and 
under  the  pretence  of  making  Sebastien  wash  his  hands, 
she  at  once  led  him  away.  Marc  was  deeply  stirred  by  that 
flight.  It  was  a  proof  of  what  he  suspected — the  great  per- 
turbation that  had  reigned  in  that  home  ever  since  Simon, 
the  innocent  man,  had  been  condemned.  Would  the  truth 
ever  come  from  that  little  shop  then  ?  He  knew  not,  and, 
feeling  more  distressed  than  ever,  he  withdrew,  after  allow- 
ing Madame  Edouard  to  tell  him  some  extraordinary  tales  by 
way  of  masking  her  sister-in-law's  weakness.  An  old  lady 
customer  of  hers,  she  said,  often  dreamt  of  poor  little 
Z^phirin,  Simon's  victim,  who  appeared  to  her,  bearing  a 
martyr's  palm.  And  since  the  Brothers'  school  had  been 
suspected  by  the  freethinkers  it  had  been  granted  the  vis- 
ible protection  of  Heaven,  for  on  three  different  occasions 
surrounding  buildings  had  been  struck  by  lightning  whereas 
the  school  had  remained  unharmed. 

Finally,  apropos  of  some  administrative  affair,  Marc  had 
occasion  to  call  on  Darras,  the  Mayor,  who  had  always  been 
regarded  as  a  Simonist,  having  openly  displayed  his  sym- 
pathy with  the  prisoner  at  the  time  of  the  trial.  But,  after 
all,  he  was  a  functionary,  and  did  not  his  position  now  com- 
pel him  to  observe  complete  neutrality  ?  His  discretion  was 
increased  by  some  little  cowardice,  a  fear  of  coming  into 
collision  with  the  majority  of  the  electors  and  of  losing  his 


TRUTH  137 

position  of  mayor,  of  which  he  was  so  proud.  So,  when 
Marc's  business  was  settled  and  the  young  man  ventured  to 
question  him,  he  raised  his  arms  to  the  ceiling  despairingly. 
He  could  do  nothing,  he  was  bound  by  his  position,  par- 
ticularly as  the  Clericals  would  certainly  secure  a  majority 
in  the  municipal  council  at  the  next  elections  if  the  popula- 
tion were  irritated  any  further.  That  disastrous  Simon 
affair  had  given  the  Church  a  wonderfully  favourable  battle- 
field, where  it  gained  the  easiest  victories  over  the  poor 
ignorant  multitude,  poisoned  with  errors  and  lies.  As  long 
as  that  blast  of  dementia  should  continue  blowing,  one 
could  attempt  nothing,  one  must  bow  the  head,  and  let  the 
storm  sweep  on.  Darras  even  exacted  from  Marc  a  promise 
that  he  would  not  repeat  what  he  said  to  him.  Then  he 
escorted  him  to  the  door  as  a  proof  of  his  secret  sympathy, 
and  again  implored  him  to  remain  silent  and  motionless  until 
the  advent  of  better  times. 

When  Marc,  as  the  result  of  such  incidents,  felt  overcome 
with  despair  and  disgust,  there  was  only  one  spot  where  he 
found  any  comfort.  That  was  the  private  room  of  Salvan, 
the  Director  of  the  Beaumont  Training  College.  He  visited 
Salvan  frequently  during  the  trying  winter  months,  when  his 
colleague  F£rou  was  starving  at  Le  Moreux  and  contending 
against  Abbe  Cognasse.  He  spoke  to  his  friend  of  the  re- 
volting wretchedness  of  the  poor  ill-paid  schoolmaster,  be- 
side the  prosperity  of  the  fatly-kept  priest.  And  Salvan 
admitted  that  such  wretchedness  was  the  cause  of  the  dis- 
credit into  which  the  position  of  elementary  schoolmaster 
was  fast  falling.  If  students  for  the  Training  Colleges  were 
only  recruited  with  difficulty,  it  was  because  the  paltry 
stipend  of  fifty-two  sous  a  day,  allowed  a  man  when  he  be- 
came a  titular  head-master  at  thirty  years  of  age,  no  longer 
tempted  anybody.  The  peasants'  sons  who  were  anxious 
to  escape  the  plough,  and  among  whom  both  the  Training 
Colleges  and  the  Seminaries  found  most  of  their  pupils,  now 
preferred  to  go  to  the  towns  in  search  of  fortune,  to  engage 
in  commerce  there,  and  even  to  become  mere  clerks.  It  was 
only  exoneration  from  military  service,  obtained  by  signing 
a  contract  to  follow  the  teaching  profession  for  at  least  ten 
years,  that  still  induced  some  of  them  to  enter  that  calling, 
in  which  so  little  money  and  so  few  honours  were  to  be  won, 
whereas  a  deal  of  worry  and  a  deal  of  scorn  were  to  be  ex- 
pected by  all. 

Yet  the  recruiting  of  the  Training  Colleges  was  the  great 


138  TRUTH 

question,  on  which  the  education  of  the  country,  its  very 
strength  and  salvation,  depended.  Co-equal  with  it  in  im- 
portance was  that  of  the  exact  training  to  be  given  in  those 
colleges  to  the  schoolmasters  of  the  future.  It  was* neces- 
sary to  animate  them  with  the  flame  of  reason  and  logic,  to 
warm  their  hearts  with  the  love  of  truth  and  justice.  The 
recruiting  depended  entirely  on  the  grant  of  higher  remu- 
neration to  the  profession,  such  reasonable  remuneration  as 
would  enable  a  schoolmaster  to  lead  a  life  of  quiet  dignity; 
whilst  as  for  the  training  of  the  future  teachers  an  entirely 
new  programme  was  needed.  As  Salvan  rightly  said,  on 
the  value  of  the  elementary  master  depended  the  value  of 
elementary  education,  the  mentality  of  the  poorer  classes, 
who  formed  the  immense  majority  of  the  community.  And 
beyond  that  matter  there  was  that  of  the  future  of  France. 
Thus  the  question  became  one  of  life  or  death  for  the 
nation. 

Salvan's  mission  was  to  prepare  masters  for  the  liberating 
work  which  would  be  entrusted  to  them.  But  hitherto  it  had 
been  impossible  to  create  apostles  such  as  were  needed,  men 
who  based  themselves  solely  on  experimental  methods,  who 
rejected  dogmas  and  mendacious  legends,  the  whole  huge 
fabric  of  error  by  which  the  humble  of  the  world  have  been 
held  in  misery  and  bondage  for  ages.  The  existing  masters 
were  mostly  worthy  folk,  Republicans  even,  quite  capable 
of  teaching  reading,  writing,  arithmetic,  and  a  little  history, 
but  absolutely  incapable  of  forming  citizens  and  men.  In 
the  disastrous  Simon  affair  they  had  been  seen  passing  al- 
most entirely  to  the  side  of  falsehood,  because  they  lacked 
reasoning  powers,  method,  and  logic.  They  did  not  know 
how  truth  ought  to  be  loved;  it  had  sufficed  them  to  hear 
that  the  Jews  had  sold  France  to  Germany,  and  at  once 
they  had  become  delirious!  Where  then,  ah!  where  was 
that  sacred  battalion  of  elementary  schoolmasters  which  was 
to  have  taught  the  whole  people  of  France  by  the  sole  light 
of  certainties  scientifically  established,  in  order  that  it  might 
be  delivered  from  the  darkness  of  centuries,  and  rendered 
capable,  at  last,  of  practising  truth,  and  liberty,  and  justice  ? 

One  morning  Marc  received  a  letter  in  which  Salvan 
begged  him  to  call  at  the  first  opportunity.  On  the  follow- 
ing Thursday  afternoon  the  young  man  therefore  repaired 
to  Beaumont,  to  that  Training  College  which  he  could  never 
enter  without  a  feeling  of  emotion,  without  memories  and 
hopes  arising  in  his  mind.  The  director  was  awaiting  him 


TRUTH  139 

in  his  private  room,  a  door  of  which  opened  into  a  little 
garden  brightened  already  by  the  warm  April  sunshine. 

1  My  dear  friend,'  said  Salvan,  '  this  is  why  I  sent  for  you. 
You  are  acquainted  with  the  deplorable  state  of  affairs  at 
Maillebois.  M^chain,  the  new  master,  whose  appointment 
in  such  grave  circumstances  was  a  mistake,  is  not  badly  dis- 
posed; I  even  think  that  he  is  on  our  side;  but  he  is  weak, 
and  in  a  few  months'  time  he  has  allowed  himself  to  be  out- 
flanked. Moreover,  he  is  ill,  and  has  applied  for  a  change 
of  appointment,  wishing,  if  possible,  to  go  to  the  south. 
What  we  need  at  Maillebois  is  a  master  of  sterling  good 
sense  and  strong  will,  one  possessed  of  all  the  intelligence 
and  energy  necessitated  by  the  present  situation.  And  so 
there  have  been  thoughts  of  you ' 

'  Of  me! '  cried  Marc,  taken  aback  by  so  sudden  and  un- 
expected an  announcement. 

'Yes;  you  alone  are  thoroughly  acquainted  with  the 
district  and  the  frightful  crisis  to  which  it  is  now  a  prey. 
Since  the  condemnation  of  poor  Simon,  the  elementary 
school  has  been,  so  to  say,  accursed;  it  loses  pupils  every 
month,  while  the  Brothers'  school  tends  to  take  its  place. 
Maillebois  is  now  becoming  a  centre  of  Clericalism,  low  su- 
perstition, and  reactionary  stupidity,  which  will  end  by  de- 
vouring everything  if  we  do  not  resist.  The  population  is 
already  relapsing  into  the  hateful  passions,  the  foolish  im- 
aginings of  nine  hundred  years  ago,  and  we  need  an  artisan 
of  the  future,  a  sower  of  the  good  crop  to  restore  the  Com- 
munal school  to  prosperity.  So,  as  I  said  before,  you  were 
thought  of ' 

'  But  is  it  merely  a  personal  desire  that  you  are  expressing, 
or  have  you  been  asked  to  consult  me  ? '  asked  Marc,  again 
interrupting. 

Salvan  smiled:  '  Oh!  I  am  a  functionary  of  no  great  im- 
portance; I  can  hardly  hope  to  see  all  my  personal  desires 
accomplished.  The  truth  is  that  I  have  been  requested  to 
sound  you.  It  is  known  that  I  am  a  friend  of  yours.  Le 
Barazer,  our  Academy  Inspector,  sent  for  me  last  Monday, 
and  from  our  conversation  sprang  the  idea  of  offering  you 
the  Maillebcis  school.' 

Marc  could  not  refrain  from  shrugging  his  shoulders. 

4  Oh!  Le  Barazer  did  not  behave  very  bravely  in  Simon's 
case,  I  am  aware  of  it,'  Salvan  continued.  '  He  might  have 
done  something.  But  we  have  to  take  men  as  they  are. 
One  thing  which  I  can  promise  you  is  that  if  you  do  not  find 


140  TRUTH 

him  exactly  on  your  side,  hereafter  he  will  at  least  prove  the 
hidden  prop,  the  inert  substance  on  which  you  may  lean  for 
support  without  fear.  He  always  ends  by  getting  the  better 
of  Prefect  Hennebise,  who  is  so  dreadfully  afraid  of  worries; 
and  Forbes,  the  Rector,  good  man,  is  content  to  reign  with- 
out governing.  The  dangerous  party  is  that  lay  Jesuit 
Mauraisin,  your  Elementary  Inspector,  Father  Crabot's 
friend,  with  whom  Le  Barazer  thinks  it  more  politic  to  be- 
have gently.  But  come,  surely  the  idea  of  battle  does  not 
frighten  you!  ' 

Marc  remained  silent,  with  downcast  eyes,  absorbed  in 
anxious  thoughts,  assailed  by  doubt  and  hesitation.  Then 
Salvan,  who  could  read  his  mind  and  who,  morever,  was 
acquainted  with  the  drama  of  his  home  life,  stepped  forward 
and  took  his  hands,  saying  with  great  feeling:  '  I  know  what 
I  am  asking  of  you,  my  friend.  I  was  a  great  friend  of 
Berthereau,  Genevieve's  father,°Ta  man  with  a  very  free, 
broad  mind,  but  at  the  same  time  a  sentimental  man  who 
ended  by  accompanying  his  wife  to  Mass  in  order  to  please 
her.  Later  I  acted  as  surrogate-guardian  to  his  daughter, 
your  wife,  and  I  often  visited  the  little  house  on  the  Place 
des  Capucins,  where  Madame  Duparque  already  reigned  so 
despotically  over  her  daughter,  Madame  Berthereau,  and 
over  her  grandchild,  Genevieve.  Perhaps  I  ought  to  have 
warned  you  more  than  I  did  at  the  time  of  your  marriage, 
for  there  is  always  some  danger  when  a  man  like  you  mar- 
ries a  young  girl  who  ever  since  infancy  has  been  steeped 
in  the  most  idolatrous  of  religions.  But,  so  far,  I  have  had 
no  great  occasion  for  self-reproach,  for  you  are  happy. 
Nevertheless,  it  is  quite  true  that,  if  you  accept  the  Maille- 
bois  appointment,  you  will  find  yourself  in  continual  conflict 
with  those  ladies.  That  is  what  you  are  thinking  of,  is  it 
not?' 

Marc  raised  his  head.  '  Yes,  I  confess  it,  I  fear  for  my 
happiness.  As  you  know,  I  have  no  ambition.  To  be  ap- 
pointed at  Maillebois  would  doubtless  be  desirable  ad- 
vancement; but  I  am  perfectly  content  with  my  position  at 
Jonville,  where  I  am  delighted  to  have  succeeded  and  to 
have  rendered  some  services  to  our  cause.  Yet  now  you 
wish  me  to  quit  that  certainty,  and  jeopardise  my  peace 
elsewhere ! ' 

A  pause  followed;  then  Salvan  gently  asked:  'Do  you 
doubt  Genevieve's  affection  ? ' 

'  Oh !  no, '  cried  Marc ;  and  after  another  pause  and  some 


TRUTH  141 

little  embarrassment :  '  How  could  I  doubt  her,  loving  as 
she  is,  so  happy  in  my  arms?  .  .  .  But  you  can  have 
no  notion  of  the  life  we  led  with  those  ladies  during  the  va- 
cation, while  I  was  busy  with  Simon's  case.  It  became 
unbearable.  I  was  treated  as  a  stranger  there;  even  the 
servant  would  not  speak  to  me.  And  I  felt  as  if  I  had  been 
carried  thousands  of  leagues  away,  to  some  other  planet, 
with  whose  inhabitants  I  had  nothing  in  common.  Worst 
of  all,  the  ladies  began  to  spoil  my  Genevieve ;  she  was  re- 
lapsing into  the  ideas  of  her  convent  days,  and  she  herself 
ended  by  growing  frightened,  and  felt  very  happy  when  we 
found  ourselves  once  more  in  our  little  nest  at  Jonville.' 

He  paused,  quivering,  and  then  concluded:  'No!  no! 
Leave  me  where  I  am.  I  do  my  duty  there:  I  carry  out  a 
work  which  I  regard  as  good.  It  is  sufficient  for  each  work- 
man to  bring  his  stone  for  the  edifice.' 

Salvan,  who  had  been  pacing  the  room  slowly,  halted  in 
front  of  the  young  man.  '  I  do  not  wish  you  to  sacrifice 
yourself,  my  friend, '  he  said ;  '  I  should  regret  it  all  my  life 
if  your  happiness  should  be  compromised,  if  the  bitterness 
born  of  conflict  should  infect  your  hearth.  But  you  are  of 
the  metal  out  of  which  heroes  are  wrought.  .  .  .  Do 
not  give  me  an  answer  now.  Take  a  week  to  think  the  mat- 
ter over.  Come  again  next  Thursday ;  we  will  then  have 
another  chat,  and  arrive  at  a  decision.' 

Marc  returned  to  Jonville  that  evening,  feeling  very  wor- 
ried. Ought  he  to  silence  his  fears,  which  he  scarcely 
dared  to  acknowledge  to  himself,  and  engage  in  a  struggle 
with  his  wife's  relations — a  struggle  in  which  all  the  joy  of 
his  life  might  be  annihilated?  He  had  decided  at  first  that 
he  would  have  a  frank  explanation  with  Genevieve;  but 
afterwards  his  courage  failed  him,  he  foresaw  only  too  well 
that  she  would  simply  tell  him  to  act  in  accordance  with  his 
opinions  and  as  his  duty  directed.  Thus,  assailed  by  in- 
creasing anguish  of  mind,  discontented  with  himself,  the 
young  man  did  not  speak  to  his  wife  of  Sal  van's  offer.  Two 
days  went  by  amid  hesitation  and  doubt;  and  then  he  ended 
by  reviewing  the  situation  and  weighing  the  various  reasons 
which  might  induce  him  to  accept  or  refuse  the  Maillebois 
appointment. 

He  pictured  the  little  town.  There  was  Darras  the 
Mayor,  who,  although  a  good-natured  man  and  one  of  ad- 
vanced views,  no  longer  dared  to  be  openly  just  for  fear 
of  losing  his  official  position,  and  placing  his  fortune  in 


142  TRUTH 

jeopardy.  There  were  also  all  the  Bongards,  the  Doloirs,  the 
Savins,  the  Milhommes,  all  those  folk  of  average  intellect 
and  morality  who  had  favoured  him  with  such  strange  dis- 
courses, in  which  cruelty  was  blended  with  imbecility; 
while  behind  them  came  the  multitude,  a  prey  to  even  more 
ridiculous  fancies  and  capable  of  more  immediate  ferocity. 
The  superstitions  of  savages  prevailed  among  the  masses, 
their  mentality  was  that  of  a  nation  of  barbarians,  adoring 
fetiches,  setting  its  glory  in  massacre  and  rapine,  and  dis- 
playing neither  a  shred  of  tolerance,  nor  of  sense,  nor  of 
kindliness.  But  why  did  they  remain  steeped — at  their 
ease,  as  it  were — in  all  the  dense  filth  of  error  and  false- 
hood? Why  did  they  reject  logic,  even  mere  reason,  with 
a  kind  of  instinctive  hatred,  as  if  they  were  terrified  by 
everything  that  was  pure,  simple,  and  clear  ?  And  why,  in 
the  Simon  case,  had  they  given  to  the  world  the  extraordin- 
ary and  deplorable  spectacle  of  a  people  paralysed  in  its 
sensibility  and  intelligence,  determined  neither  to  see  nor  to 
understand,  but  bent  on  enveloping  itself  in  all  possible 
darkness,  in  order  that  it  might  be  unable  to  see,  and  free 
to  clamour  for  death  amid  the  black  night  of  its  supersti- 
tions and  its  prejudices?  Those  folk  had  assuredly  been 
contaminated,  poisoned;  day  by  day  newspapers  like  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  and  La  Croix  de  Beaumont  had  poured 
forth  the  hateful  beverage  which  corrupts  and  brings  de- 
lirium. Poor  childish  minds,  hearts  deficient  in  courage, 
all  the  suffering  and  humble  ones,  brutified  by  bondage  and 
misery,  become  an  easy  prey  for  forgers  and  liars,  for  those 
who  batten  upon  public  credulity.  And  ever  since  the  be- 
ginning of  time  every  Church  and  Empire  and  Monarchy  in 
the  world  has  only  reigned  over  the  multitude  by  poisoning 
it,  after  robbing  and  maintaining  it  in  the  terror  and  slavery 
of  false  beliefs. 

But  if  the  people  had  been  poisoned  so  easily  it  must  have 
been  because  it  possessed  no  power  of  resistance.  Poison, 
moral  poison,  acts  particularly  on  the  ignorant,  on  those 
who  know  nothing,  those  who  are  incapable  of  criticising, 
examining,  and  reasoning.  Thus,  beneath  all  the  anguish, 
iniquity,  and  shame,  one  found  ignorance — ignorance,  the 
first  and  the  only  cause  of  mankind's  long  Calvary,  its  slow 
and  laborious  ascent  towards  the  light  through  all  the  filth 
and  the  crimes  of  history.  And  assuredly,  if  nations  were 
to  be  freed,  one  must  go  to  the  root  of  things — that  root  of 
ignorance ;  for  once  again  it  had  been  demonstrated  that  an 


TRUTH  143 

ignorant  people  could  not  practise  equity,  that  truth  alone 
could  endow  it  with  the  power  of  dispensing  justice. 

At  that  point  of  his  reflections  Marc  felt  very  much  as- 
tonished. How  came  it  that  the  mentality  of  the  masses 
was  no  higher  than  that  of  mere  savages  ?  Had  not  the  Re- 
public reigned  for  thirty  years,  and  had  not  its  founders 
shown  themselves  conscious  of  the  necessities  of  the  times 
by  basing  the  state  edifice  on  scholastic  laws,  restoring  the 
elementary  schools  to  honour  and  strength,  and  decree- 
ing that  education  thenceforth  should  be  gratuitous,  com- 
pulsory, and  secular?  They  must  have  fancied  at  that  time 
that  the  good  work  was  virtually  done,  that  a  real  democracy, 
delivered  from  old-time  errors  and  falsehoods,  would  at  last 
sprout  from  the  soil  of  France.  But  thirty  years  had  elapsed, 
and  any  forward  step  that  might  be  achieved  seemed  to  be 
cancelled  by  the  slightest  public  disturbance.  The  people 
of  to-day  relapsed  into  the  brutish  degradation,  the  de- 
mentia of  the  people  of  yesterday,  amidst  a  sudden  return 
of  ancestral  darkness.  What  had  happened  then?  What 
covert  resistance,  what  subterranean  force  was  it  that  had 
thus  paralysed  the  immense  efforts  which  had  been  at- 
tempted to  extricate  all  the  humble  and  suffering  ones  from 
their  slavery  and  obscurity  ?  As  Marc  put  this  question  to 
himself  he  at  once  saw  the  enemy  arise — the  enemy,  the 
creator  of  ignorance  and  death,  the  Roman  Catholic  Church. 

It  was  that  Church  which,  with  the  patient  tactics  of  a 
tenacious  worker,  had  barred  the  roads,  and  gradually 
seized  on  all  those  poor  dense  minds  which  others  had  tried 
to  wrest  from  its  domination.  She  had  always  fully  under- 
stood that  she  must  remain  the  master  of  the  educational 
system  in  order  that  she  might  create  night  and  falsehood  as 
she  listed,  if  she  desired  to  keep  the  bodies  and  souls  of  the 
masses  in  subjection.  Thus  it  was  on  the  battlefield  of  the 
schools  that  she  had  once  again  waged  hostilities,  displaying 
marvellous  suppleness  in  her  hypocritical  craft,  pretending 
even  to  be  Republican,  and  availing  herself  of  the  laws  of 
freedom  to  keep  within  the  prison  house  of  her  dogmas  and 
superstitions  the  millions  of  children  whom  those  same  laws 
had  been  devised  to  liberate.  And  all  those  children  were 
young  brains  won  over  to  error,  future  soldiers  for  the  re- 
ligion of  spoliation  and  cruelty  which  reigned  over  the  hate- 
ful society  of  the  era. 

The  crafty  old  Pope  was  seen  leading  the  campaign,  that 
turning  movement  which  was  to  drive  the  Revolution  from 


144  TRUTH 

its  own  land  of  France,  and,  in  the  name  of  liberty,  filch 
and  appropriate  all  its  conquests.  The  founders  of  the  ex- 
isting r/gime,  the  early  Republicans,  in  presence  of  the 
feigned  disarming  of  the  Church,  had  been  simple-minded 
enough  to  regard  themselves  as  victors,  to  lapse  into  tran- 
quillity, and  even  to  smile  upon  the  priests.  They  cele- 
brated a  new  spirit  of  concord  and  pacification,  the  union 
of  all  beliefs  in  one  sole  national  and  patriotic  faith.  As 
the  Republic  was  triumphant,  why  should  it  not  welcome  all 
its  children,  even  those  who,  again  and  again,  had  tried  to 
throttle  it  ?  But,  thanks  to  that  benevolent  grandeur  of 
views,  the  Church  went  on  prosecuting  her  subterranean 
march,  the  Congregations  which  had  been  expelled  '  came 
back  one  by  one,  the  everlasting  work  of  invasion  and  en- 
thralment  was  pursued  without  an  hour's  rest.  Little  by 
little  the  colleges  of  the  Jesuits,  the  Dominicans,  and  other 
Congregations  peopled  the  civil  service,  the  magistrature, 
and  the  army  with  their  pupils  and  creatures,  while  the 
secular  schools  were  dispossessed  by  those  of  the  Brothers 
and  Sisters.  Thus,  on  suddenly  awaking  with  a  great  start, 
the  country  had  found  itself  once  more  in  the  hands  of  the 
Church,  the  best  posts  of  its  governmental  organisation  be- 
ing held  by  the  Church's  men,  while  its  future  was  pledged, 
since  the  children  of  the  masses,  the  peasants,  artisans,  and 
soldiers  of  to-morrow  were  held  beneath  the  rods  of  the 
Ignorantines. 

Marc,  as  it  happened,  witnessed  on  the  Sunday  an  extra- 
ordinary spectacle  which  fully  confirmed  his  impressions. 
He  was  still  deep  in  thought,  still  unable  to  make  up  his 
mind  to  accept  Salvan's  offer.  And  having  gone  to  Maille- 
bois  that  Sunday  in  order  to  see  David,  he  afterwards  came 
upon  a  remarkable  religious  ceremony,  which  Le  Croix  de 
Beaumont  and  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  had  been  announcing 
in  flamboyant  articles  for  a  fortnight  past,  in  such  wise  that 
all  the  devotees  of  the  region  were  in  a  fever  of  excitement 
over  it.  The  question  was  one  of  a  superb  reliquary,  con- 
taining a  fragment  of  the  skull  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  a 
perfect  treasure,  for  the  purchase  of  which  as  much  as 
ten  thousand  francs,  it  was  said,  had  been  subscribed  by 
some  of  the  faithful,  who  had  presented  it  to  the  Capu- 
chin Chapel.  For  the  inauguration  of  the  reliquary  at  the 
feet  of  the  statue  of  the  Saint  there  was  to  be  a  grand 

1  This  is  not  an  allusion  to  the  recent  expulsions  of  the  religious 
Orders,  but  to  those  carried  out  a  score  of  years  ago. — Trans, 


TRUTH  145 

solemnity,  which  Monseigneur  Begerot  had  consented  to 
adorn  with  his  presence.  It  was  the  Bishop's  graciousness 
in  this  respect  which  impassioned  everybody ;  for  none  had 
forgotten  how  he  had  formerly  supported  Abb£  Quandieu, 
the  parish  priest,  against  the  efforts  of  the  Capuchins  to  gain 
all  the  faithful  and  all  the  money  of  the  region  to  them- 
selves. Besides,  he  had  always  been  regarded  as  a  thorough 
Simonist.  Yet  he  had  now  consented  to  bestow  on  the 
Capuchins  and  their  trade  a  public  mark  of  his  sympathy ; 
and  it  followed  that  he  must  have  submitted  to  very  power- 
ful influences,  for  it  was  extraordinary  that  after  an  interval 
of  only  a  few  months  he  should  give  the  lie  to  all  his  pre- 
vious actions,  and  resign  himself  to  a  course  which  must 
have  been  painful  indeed  to  a  man  of  so  much  culture  and 
gentle  good  sense. 

Attracted  by  curiosity,  Marc  repaired  with  the  crowd  to 
the  chapel,  where  during  the  next  two  hours  he  beheld  the 
strangest  things  possible.  The  trade  which  the  Maillebois 
Capuchins  carried  on  with  their  St.  Antony  of  Padua  had 
become  very  considerable,  amounting  to  some  hundreds  of 
thousands  of  francs  every  year,  collected  in  little  sums,  vary- 
ing from  one  franc  to  ten.  Father  Theodose,  the  superior, 
whose  fine  apostolic  head  sent  all  the  lady  devotees  into  rap- 
tures, had  proved  himself  to  be  an  inventor  and  manager  of 
great  genius.  He  had  devised  and  organised  the  democratic 
miracle,  the  domestic,  every-day  miracle  such  as  was  within 
the  reach  of  the  humblest  purses.  At  the  outset  St.  Antony's 
statue  in  the  chapel  had  been  a  somewhat  paltry  one,  and 
the  Saint  had  busied  himself  with  little  else  than  the  finding 
of  lost  things,  his  old-time  specialty.  But  after  a  few  suc- 
cesses of  this  kind,  as  money  began  to  flow  in,  Father  Th£o- 
dose  by  a  stroke  of  genius  extended  the  sphere  of  the  Saint's 
miraculous  action,  applying  it  to  all  the  needs  and  desires 
of  his  steadily  increasing  customers.  The  sick  who  were 
afflicted  with  incurable  maladies,  those  also  who  merely 
suffered  from  head  or  stomach  ache;  the  petty  shopkeepers 
who  were  in  embarrassed  circumstances,  who  lacked  the 
money  to  honour  their  acceptances,  or  who  did  not  know 
how  to  get  rid  of  damaged  goods;  the  speculators  who  had 
embarked  in  shady  undertakings  and  who  feared  the  loss  of 
their  fortunes  and  their  liberty;  the  mothers  who  were  in 
despair  at  finding  no  husbands  for  their  plain  and  dowerless 
daughters;  the  poor  devils  out  of  work,  who  were  weary  of 
seeking  employment,  and  who  felt  that  only  a  prodigy  could 


146  TRUTH 

enable  them  to  earn  their  bread;  the  heirs  who  were  an- 
xious with  respect  to  the  sentiments  of  an  ailing  grand- 
parent, and  who  desired  the  help  of  Heaven  to  ensure  them 
a  bequest;  the  idle  schoolboys,  the  hare-brained  school  girls, 
all  the  dunces  who  were  certain  to  fail  at  their  examin- 
ations if  Providence  did  not  come  to  their  assistance :  all 
the  sorry  weaklings,  destitute  of  will,  incapable  of  effort, 
who,  regardless  of  work  and  common  sense,  awaited  some 
undeserved  success  from  a  superior  power — all  these  might 
address  themselves  to  St.  Antony,  confide  their  case  to  him, 
and  secure  his  all-powerful  intercession  with  the  Deity,  the 
chances  of  success  in  their  favour  being  six  to  four,  accord- 
ing to  careful  statistics  which  had  been  prepared! 

So  everything  was  organised  in  a  lavish  way.  The  old 
statue  was  replaced  by  a  new  one,  very  much  larger  and 
gilded  far  more  profusely;  and  collection  boxes  were  set  up 
on  all  sides — collection  boxes  of  a  new  pattern,  each  having 
two  compartments,  one  for  money  gifts  and  the  other  for 
letters  which  were  addressed  to  the  Saint,  and  which  speci- 
fied the  nature  of  the  applications.  It  was  of  course  allow- 
able to  give  no  money ;  but  it  was  remarked  that  the  Saint 
granted  only  the  prayers  of  those  who  bestowed  at  least 
some  small  alms.  In  the  result  a  tariff  was  established, 
based  on  experience — so  Father  The'odose  asserted — one 
franc  and  two  frances  given  being  for  little  favours,  five 
francs  and  ten  francs  when  one  was  more  ambitiously  in- 
clined. Besides,  if  the  applicant  did  not  give  enough,  the 
Saint  soon  made  it  known  by  failing  to  intervene,  and  it 
then  became  necessary  to  double  and  treble  one's  alms. 
Those  customers  who  desired  to  delay  payment  until  the 
miracle  was  accomplished  ran  the  risk  of  never  securing  a 
favour  at  all.  Moreover,  the  Saint  retained  all  freedom  of 
action,  choosing  the  elect  as  he  pleased,  and  rendering  ac- 
counts to  none.  Thus  the  whole  affair  was  a  gamble,  a  kind 
of  divine  lottery,  in  which  one  might  draw  a  good  or  a  bad 
number  ;  and  it  was  this  very  circumstance  which  impas- 
sioned the  masses  among  whom  the  gambling  instinct  is  so 
keen.  They  rushed  upon  the  collection  boxes  and  gave 
their  franc,  their  two  francs,  or  their  five  francs,  all  aflame 
with  the  hope  that  they  would  perhaps  secure  a  big  prize, 
some  illicit  and  unhoped-for  gain,  some  fine  marriage,  some 
diploma,  some  huge  bequest.  Never  had  there  been  a  more 
impudent  attempt  to  brutify  the  public,  a  more  shameless 
speculation  on  human  stupidity  and  the  instincts  of  idleness 


TRUTH  147 

and  covetousness,  one  which  destroyed  all  self-reliance  and 
spread  broadcast  the  idea  of  achieving  success  by  chance 
alone  without  the  slightest  show  of  merit.1 

Marc  understood  by  the  feverish  enthusiasm  of  the  groups 
around  him  that  the  business  would  spread  still  further  and 
contaminate  the  whole  region,  thanks  to  that  chiselled, 
gilded,  silver  reliquary,  in  which  a  fragment  of  St.  Antony's 
skull  was  enshrined.  This  was  Father  Theodose's  last  de- 
vice in  response  to  the  competition  which  other  religious 
Orders  had  started  at  Beaumont,  with  a  great  swarming  of 
statues  and  collection  boxes,  in  order  that  the  public  might 
try  their  luck  with  other  miracle-working  saints.  Mistakes 
would  now  be  impossible,  he  alone  possessed  the  sacred 
fragment  of  bone,  and  he  alone  would  be  able  to  supply  the 
miracle  gamblers  with  the  very  best  chances  of  success. 
Posters  covered  the  walls  of  the  chapel,  a  new  prospectus 
guaranteed  the  absolute  authenticity  of  the  relic,  set  forth 
that  the  tariffs  would  not  be  increased  in  spite  of  the  new 
advantages  offered,  and  carefully  regulated  operations  in 
order  that  no  recrimination  might  ensue  between  the  Saint 
and  his  customers.  The  first  thing,  however,  which  struck 
Marc  painfully  was  the  presence  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire, 
who  had  brought  the  girls  of  the  Communal  school  to  the 
ceremony  as  if  their  attendance  were  a  part  of  the  curricu- 
lum. And  he  was  stupefied  when  at  the  head  of  the  girls 
he  saw  the  tallest  of  them  carrying  a  religious  banner  of 
white  silk  embroidered  with  gold.  But  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire made  no  secret  of  her  sentiments.  Whenever  one  of 
her  pupils  competed  for  a  certificate  she  sent  her  not  only  to 
take  Communion,  but  to  place  two  francs  in  one  of  St.  An- 
tony's collection  boxes,  in  order  that  the  Deity  might  facili- 
tate her  examination.  When  the  pupil  was  more  stupid 
than  usual  she  even  advised  her  to  put  five  francs  into  the 
box,  as  the  Saint  would  assuredly  have  extra  trouble  in  her 
case.  She  also  made  her  pupils  keep  diaries  in  which  they 
had  to  record  their  sins  day  by  day,  and  distributed  good 

1  M.  Zola's  account  of  the  worship  of  St.  Antony  is  strictly  accurate. 
Can  one  wonder  that  the  Government  of  the  Republic  should  have 
decided  to  expel  from  France  some  of  the  bandits  who,  masquerading 
under  the  guise  of  monks,  initiated  this  colossal  fraud  ?  The  idea  of  it 
sprang  from  their  keen  jealousy  of  the  wealth  of  the  Assumptionist 
Fathers  whom  they  found  raking  in  money  at  Lourdes  by  the  aid  of 
bogus  miracles.  They  carried  the  miracle  craze  further  by  diffusing  the 
worship  of  St.  Antony  throughout  France,  preying  on  all  the  credulous 
with  the  most  astounding  impudence. —  Trans, 


148  TRUTH 

marks  to  them  for  attendance  at  Mass.  Singular  indeed 
was  the  secular  Communal  school  kept  by  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire ! 

The  little  girls  ranged  themselves  on  the  left  side  of  the 
nave,  while  the  little  boys  of  the  Brothers'  school  installed 
themselves  on  the  right,  in  the  charge  of  Brother  Fulgence, 
who,  as  usual,  made  no  end  of  fuss.  Father  Crabot  and 
Father  Philibin,  who  had  wished  to  honour  the  ceremony 
with  their  presence,  were  already  in  the  choir.  Perhaps 
they  were  further  desirous  of  enjoying  their  victory  over 
Monseigneur  Bergerot,  for  everybody  knew  how  the  Rector 
of  Valmarie  had  helped  to  glorify  the  worship  of  St.  Antony 
of  Padua,  in  such  wise  that  it  was  a  triumph  to  have  com- 
pelled the  Bishop  to  make  due  amends  for  his  severity  of 
language  respecting  '  base  superstition. '  When  Monseigneur 
Bergerot  entered  the  chapel,  followed  by  Abbe  Quandieu, 
Marc  felt  confused,  almost  ashamed  for  them,  such  dolorous 
submission,  such  enforced  relinquishment  did  he  detect  be- 
neath their  grave  pale  countenances. 

The  young  man  easily  guessed  what  had  happened,  how 
the  dementia,  the  irresistible  onrush  of  the  devout,  had 
ended  by  sweeping  the  Bishop  and  the  priest  from  the  posi- 
tions they  had  originally  taken  up.  Abb£  Quandieu  had 
long  resisted,  unwilling  as  he  was  to  lend  himself  to  what 
he  regarded  as  idolatry.  But  at  sight  of  the  scandal  occa- 
sioned by  his  demeanour  and  the  solitude  growing  around 
him,  he  had  been  seized  with  anguish,  wondering  if  religion 
would  not  suffer  from  his  uncompromising  attitude,  and  at 
last  resigning  himself  to  the  painful  duty  of  casting  the  holy 
mantle  of  his  ministry  over  the  new  and  pestilential  sore. 
One  day  he  had  carried  the  story  of  his  doubts,  his  struggles, 
his  defeat  to  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  who  like  him  was  van- 
quished, who  like  him  feared  some  diminution  of  the  power 
of  the  Church  if  it  should  confess  its  follies  and  its  flaws. 
And  the  weeping  Bishop  had  embraced  the  priest  and 
promised  to  attend  the  ceremony  which  was  to  seal  the  re- 
conciliation with  the  Capuchins  and  their  allies.  Keen  suf- 
fering must  have  come  to  them  from  their  powerlessness, 
from  their  enforced  cowardice;  and  they  must  have  suffered 
yet  more  bitterly  at  seeing  their  ideal  soiled,  their  faith 
made  a  mere  matter  of  barter.  Ah!  that  Christianity,  so 
pure  at  its  advent,  a  great  cause  of  brotherhood  and  deliver- 
ance, and  even  that  Catholicism  which  had  winged  its  flight 
so  boldly  and  proved  itself  so  powerful  an  instrument  of 


TRUTH  149 

civilisation,  in  what  mud  would  both  expire,  if  they  must  be 
thus  allowed  to  sink  to  the  vilest  trading,  to  become  the 
prey  of  the  basest  passions,  mere  things  to  be  bought  and 
sold,  instruments  for  the  diffusion  of  brutishness  and  false- 
hood! Worms  were  gathering  in  them,  as  in  all  old  things, 
and  soon  would  come  rottenness,  final  decomposition, 
which  would  leave  nought  save  a  little  dust  and  mouldiness 
behind. 

The  ceremony  proved  a  triumphal  one.  A  constellation 
of  candles  glittered  around  the  reliquary  which  was  blessed 
and  censed.  There  were  orisons  and  addresses,  and  canti- 
cles chanted  amid  the  mighty  strains  of  the  organ.  Several 
ladies  were  taken  ill,  one  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's  little 
girls  had  to  be  led  away,  so  oppressive  became  the  atmos- 
phere. But  the  delirium  of  the  congregation  reached  a 
climax  when  Father  Theodose,  having  ascended  the  pulpit, 
recited  the  Saint's  miracles:  one  hundred  and  twenty-eight 
lost  objects  duly  found;  fifty  doubtful  commercial  transac- 
tions brought  to  a  good  issue;  thirty  tradespeople  saved 
from  bankruptcy  by  the  sudden  sale  of  old  goods  stored 
away  in  their  shops;  ninety-three  sick  people,  paralytic, 
consumptive,  affected  with  cancer  or  with  gout,  restored  to 
health;  twenty-six  young  girls  married  although  they  were 
portionless;  thirty  married  women  becoming  the  mothers  of 
boys  or  girls,  according  to  their  choice;  three  hundred 
clerks  placed  in  good  offices  with  the  salaries  they  desired; 
six  inheritances  acquired  suddenly  and  against  all  hopes; 
seventy-seven  pupils,  girls  and  boys,  successful  at  their 
examinations,  although  their  teachers  had  foretold  the  con- 
trary ;  and  all  sorts  of  other  favours  and  graces,  conversions, 
illicit  unions  transformed  into  lawful  ones,  unbelievers  dying 
converted,  lawsuits  gained,  unsaleable  lands  suddenly  dis- 
posed of,  houses  let  after  remaining  tenantless  for  ten 
years!  And  ardent  covetousness  convulsed  the  throng  at 
each  fresh  announcement  of  a  miracle,  till  at  last  a  clamour 
of  satisfied  passion  greeted  the  enumeration  of  each  favour, 
which  Father  The'odose  announced  from  the  pulpit  in  a 
thundering  voice.  It  all  ended  in  an  attack  of  veritable 
dementia,  the  whole  congregation  rising  and  howling, 
stretching  forth  convulsive  hands  as  if  to  catch  one  or  an- 
other of  those  great  lottery  prizes  that  rained  down  from 
heaven. 

Angered  and  disgusted,  Marc  was  unable  to  remain  there 
any  longer.  He  had  seen  Father  Crabot  await  a  benevolent 


1 50  TRUTH 

smile  from  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  then  hold  with  him  a 
friendly  conversation,  which  everybody  remarked.  Mean- 
time Abbe"  Quandieu  was  smiling  also,  though  a  twitch  of 
pain  lurked  round  his  lips.  The  sacrifice  was  consummated. 
The  victory  of  the  Brothers  and  the  monks,  the  triumph  of 
the  Catholicism  of  idolatry,  servitude,  and  annihilation 
would  prove  complete.  The  young  man  felt  stifled  in  that 
atmosphere,  so  he  left  the  chapel  to  seek  the  sunshine  and 
the  pure  air. 

But  St.  Antony  of  Padua  pursued  him  even  across  the 
square  outside.  Groups  of  female  devotees  were  chattering 
together,  even  as  the  women  gamblers  had  chattered  in  the 
old  days  while  loitering  near  the  doors  of  the  lottery  offices. 

1  As  for  me, '  said  one  very  fat  and  doleful  woman,  '  I 
never  have  any  luck;  I  never  win  at  any  game.  And  per- 
haps that  's  why  St.  Antony  does  not  listen  to  me.  I  gave 
forty  sous  on  three  occasions,  once  for  my  goat  which  was 
ailing,  but  all  the  same  it  died;  the  next  time  for  a  ring  I 
lost,  and  which  I  never  found;  and  then,  the  third  time, 
for  some  potatoes  which  were  rotting,  but  it  was  no  good,  I 
could  n't  find  a  buyer  for  them.  Ah!  I  am  really  unlucky 
and  no  mistake ! ' 

'  You  are  too  patient,  my  dear, '  a  little  dark  wizened  old 
woman  answered.  '  As  for  me,  when  St.  Antony  won't  lend 
ear,  I  make  him  listen.' 

'  But  how,  my  dear  ?  ' 

'  Oh !  I  punish  him.  For  instance,  there  was  that  little 
house  of  mine  which  I  could  n't  let  because  people  complain 
that  it  's  too  damp  and  that  children  get  ill  and  die  there. 
Well,  I  gave  three  francs,  and  then  I  waited.  Nothing,  not 
a  sign  of  a  tenant!  I  gave  three  francs  a  second  time,  and 
still  there  was  no  result.  That  made  me  cross  and  I  hustled 
the  statuette  of  the  Saint  which  stands  on  the  chest  of 
drawers  in  my  bedroom.  As  he  still  did  nothing  for  me,  I 
turned  his  face  to  the  wall  to  let  him  reflect.  He  spent  a 
week  like  that,  but  still  nothing  came  of  it,  for  it  did  not 
humiliate  him  sufficiently.  I  had  to  think  of  something 
else  ;  I  felt  quite  furious,  and  I  ended  by  tying  him  to  a 
cord  and  lowering  him  into  my  well,  head  downwards.  Ah! 
my  dear,  he  then  understood  that  I  was  bound  to  have  the 
last  word  with  him;  for  he  had  n't  been  in  the  well  two 
hours  when  some  people  called  and  I  let  them  my  little 
house.' 

'  But  you  pulled  him  out  of  the  well  ? ' 


TRUTH  151 

'  Oh !  at  once.      I  set  him  on  the  drawers  again,  after 
wiping  him  quite  clean  and  apologising  to  him. 
We  are  not  on  bad  terms  together  on  account  of  that  affair, 
oh!  dear  no;  only,  do  you  see,  when  one  has  paid  one's 
money,  one  ought  to  be  energetic.' 

1  All  right,  my  dear,  I  '11  try.  ...  I  have  some  wor- 
ries with  the  Justice  of  the  Peace,  so  I  will  go  inside  and 
give  two  francs.  And  if  the  Saint  does  n't  help  me  to  win 
the  suit,  I  will  show  him  my  displeasure.' 

'  That  's  it,  my  dear!  Tie  a  stone  to  his  neck,  or  wrap 
him  up  in  some  dirty  linen.  He  does  n't  like  that  at  all. 
It  will  make  him  do  the  right  thing.' 

Marc  could  not  help  smiling  in  spite  of  his  bitter  feel- 
ings. He  continued  listening,  and  heard  a  group  of  serious 
looking  men — among  whom  he  recognised  Philis,  the  Muni- 
cipal Councillor  and  clerical  rival  of  Mayor  Darras — deplor- 
ing the  fact  that  not  a  parish  of  the  arrondissement  had  yet 
consecrated  itself  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus.  That  was 
another  clever  invention,  more  dangerous  still  than  the  base 
trafficking  in  St.  Antony  of  Padua.  True,  the  poorer 
classes  as  yet  remained  indifferent  to  it,  as  it  lacked  the  at- 
traction of  a  miraculous  and  a  gambling  element.  None  the 
less,  there  was  a  grave  peril  in  that  idolatrous  worship  of  the 
Sacred  Heart,  a  real,  red,  bleeding  heart  torn  away  amid  a 
last  palpitation,  and  portrayed  like  the  heart  of  some  animal 
in  a  butcher's  shop.  The  endeavour  was  to  make  that  gory 
picture  jthe  emblem  of  modern  France,  to  print  it  in  purple, 
to  embroider  it  in  silk  and  gold  on  the  national  flag,  so  that 
the  whole  country  might  become  a  mere  dependency  of  the 
Church  which  invented  that  repulsive  fetich  worship.  Here 
again  one  found  the  same  manoeuvre,  the  same  attempt  to 
lay  the  grip  of  priestcraft  on  the  nation,  to  win  over  the  mul- 
titude by  means  of  superstition  and  legend,  in  the  hope  of 
steeping  it  once  more  in  ignorance  and  bondage.  And  in 
the  case  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  as  in  that  of  St.  Antony  of 
Padua,  it  was  particularly  the  Jesuits  who  were  at  work,  dis- 
organising the  olden  Catholicism  with  their  evil  power,  and 
reducing  religion  to  a  level  with  the  carnal  practices  of  sav- 
age tribes. 

Marc  hurried  away.  He  again  felt  suffocated,  he  longed 
for  solitude  and  space.  Genevieve,  desirous  of  spending  an 
afternoon  with  her  parents,  had  accompanied  him  to  Mail- 
elbois  that  Sunday.  Madame  Duparque,  being  attacked  by 
gout,  was  confined  to  her  arm-chair,  and  had  been  prevented 


152  TRUTH 

therefore  from  attending  the  ceremony  at  the  chapel.  As 
Marc  no  longer  visited  his  wife's  relations,  he  had  agreed 
with  Genevieve  that  he  would  meet  her  outside  the  railway 
station  in  time  for  the  four  o'clock  train.  It  was  now 
scarcely  more  than  three,  and  so  he  walked  mechanically  to 
the  tree-planted  square  where  the  railway  station  stood,  and 
sank  upon  a  bench  there  amid  the  solitude.  He  was  still 
pondering,  still  absorbed  in  a  great,  decisive,  mental  battle. 
All  at  once  light  flashed  upon  his  mind.  The  extraordi- 
nary spectacle  he  had  just  beheld,  the  things  he  had  seen 
and  heard,  filled  him  with  glowing  certainty.  If  the  nation 
were  passing  through  such  a  frightful  crisis;  if  it  were  be- 
coming divided  into  two  hostile  Frances,  ready  to  devour 
one  another,  it  was  simply  because  Rome  had  carried  her 
battle  into  French  territory.  France  was  the  last  great 
Roman  Catholic  power  that  remained ; '  she  alone  still  pos- 
sessed the  men  and  the  money,  the  strength  needed  to  im- 
pose Roman  Catholicism  on  the  world.  It  was  logical, 
therefore,  that  her  territory  should  have  been  chosen  for  the 
supreme  battle  of  Rome,  who  was  so  frantically  desirous  of 
recovering  her  temporal  power,  as  that  alone  could  lead  her 
to  the  realisation  of  her  ancient  dream  of  universal  domina- 
tion. Thus  all  France  had  become  like  those  frontier  plains, 
those  fertile  ploughlands,  vineyards,  and  orchards  where  two 
armies  meet  and  contend  to  decide  some  mighty  quarrel. 
The  crops  are  ravaged  by  cavalry  charges,  the  vineyards 
and  orchards  are  ripped  open  by  galloping  batteries  of  artil- 
lery; shells  blow  up  the  villages,  grape-shot  cuts  down  the 
trees,  and  changes  the  plain  into  a  lifeless  desert.  And,  in 
like  way,  the  France  of  to-day  is  devastated  and  ruined  by 
the  warfare  which  the  Church  there  wages  against  the  Revo- 
lution, an  exterminating  warfare  without  truce  or  mercy,  for 
the  Church  well  understands  that,  if  she  does  not  slay  the 
Revolution,  by  which  is  symbolised  the  spirit  of  liberty  and 
justice,  the  Revolution  will  slay  her.  Thence  comes  the 
desperate  struggle  on  every  field,  among  every  class  —  a 
struggle  poisoning  every  question  that  arises,  fomenting  civil 
war,  transforming  the  motherland  into  a  field  of  massacre, 

1  Austria,  the  reader  may  be  reminded,  is  in  great  straits,  held 
together  merely  by  the  prestige  of  its  reigning  monarch  ;  Italy  is  hostile 
to  the  temporal  claims  of  the  papacy  ;  Spain  has  been  killed  by  its 
priests  ;  Portugal  slumbers  in  insignificance  ;  even  the  prosperity  of 
Belgium  has  been  largely  affected  by  the  blighting  influence  of  its 
religious  Orders. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  153 

where  perhaps  only  ruins  will  soon  remain.  And  therein 
lies  the  mortal  danger,  a  certainty  of  death  if  the  Church 
should  triumph  and  cast  France  once  more  into  the  dark- 
ness and  wretchedness  of  the  past,  making  of  her  also  one  of 
those  fallen  nations  which  expire  in  the  misery  and  nothing- 
ness with  which  Roman  Catholicism  has  stricken  every  land 
where  she  has  reigned. 

Reflections,  which  previously  had  filled  Marc  with  much 
perplexity,  now  came  to  him  afresh,  illumined  by  new  light. 
He  pictured  the  subterranean  work  of  the  Church  during 
the  last  fifty  years:  the  clever  manoeuvres  of  the  Teaching 
Orders  to  win  future  power  by  influencing  the  children ;  and 
the  policy  followed  by  Leo  XIII.,  his  crafty  acceptance  of 
the  Republic  for  the  sole  purpose  of  worming  his  way  into 
it  and  subduing  it.  But  if  the  France  of  Voltaire  and 
Diderot,  the  France  of  the  Revolution  and  the  Three  Re- 
publics, had  become  the  poor,  misled,  distracted  France  of 
to-day,  which  almost  reverted  to  the  past  instead  of  march- 
ing towards  the  future,  it  was  more  particularly  because  the 
Jesuits  and  the  other  teaching  Orders  had  set  their  grip  on 
the  children,  trebling  the  number  of  their  pupils  in  thirty 
years,  spreading  their  powerful  establishments  over  the  en- 
tire land.  And,  all  at  once,  impelled  thereto  by  events,  and 
compelled  moreover  to  take  up  position,  the  triumphant 
Church  unmasked  her  work,  and  defiantly  acknowledged 
that  she  meant  to  be  the  sovereign  of  the  nation. 

All  the  various  conquests  hitherto  achieved  arose  before 
the  scared  eyes  of  the  onlookers:  The  high  positions  in  the 
army,  the  magistrature,  the  civil  and  political  services  were 
in  the  hands  of  men  formed  by  the  Church ;  the  once  lib- 
eral, unbelieving,  railing  middle  class  had  been  won  back  to 
the  retrograde  Church-spirit  from  the  fear  of  being  dispos- 
sessed by  the  rising  tide  of  the  masses;  the  latter  themselves 
were  poisoned  with  gross  superstitions,  held  in  crass  ignor- 
ance and  falsehood  in  order  that  they  might  remain  the  hu- 
man cattle  whom  the  master  fleeces  and  slaughters.  And 
the  Church,  no  longer  hiding  her  designs,  impudently  pur- 
sued her  work  of  conquest,  setting  up  St.  Antony's  collec- 
tion boxes  with  a  great  display  of  puffery  on  all  sides, 
distributing  flags  adorned  with  the  gory  emblem  of  the 
Sacred  Heart  to  the  villages,  opening  congregational  schools 
in  competition  to  every  secular  one,  and  even  seizing  on  the 
latter,  where  the  teachers  often  became  creatures  of  her 
own,  and  did  her  work  either  from  cowardice  or  interest. 


154  TRUTH 

She,  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  was  now  openly  at  war 
with  civil  society.  She  raised  money  expressly  to  carry  on 
her  work  of  conquest;  many  of  the  religious  congregations 
had  taken  to  industry  and  trade;  one  alone,  that  of  the 
Good  Pastor,  realising  some  twelve  millions  of  francs  profit ' 
every  year  by  exploiting  the  forty-seven  thousand  work-girls 
who  slaved  in  its  two  hundred  and  seven  establishments. 
And  the  Church  sold  all  kinds  of  things:  alcoholic  liqueurs 
and  shoes,  medicines  and  furniture,  miraculous  waters  and 
embroidered  nightgowns  for  women  of  bad  character.  She 
turned  everything  into  money,  she  levied  the  heaviest  tribute 
on  public  stupidity  and  credulity  by  her  spurious  miracles 
and  her  everlasting  exploitation  of  religion.  Her  wealth 
amounted  to  thousands  of  millions  of  francs,  her  estates  were 
immense,  and  she  disposed  of  enough  ready  cash  to  buy 
parties,  hurl  them  one  upon  the  other,  and  triumph  amid 
the  blood  and  ruin  of  civil  war.  The  struggle  appeared 
terrible  and  immediate  to  Marc,  who  had  never  previously 
felt  how  very  necessary  it  was  that  France  should  slay  that 
Church  if  she  did  not  wish  to  be  slain  by  her. 

All  at  once  the  Bongards,  the  Doloirs,  the  Savins,  the 
Milhommes  seemed  to  appear  before  him;  he  could  hear 
them  stammering  the  paltry  excuses  that  came  from  cow- 
ardly hearts  and  poisoned  minds,  seeking  refuge  in  ignor- 
ance and  fear-fraught  egotism.  They  represented  France, 
the  scared,  brutified  masses,  handed  over  to  prejudice  and 
clerical  imbecility.  To  rot  the  people  more  quickly  anti- 
Semitism  had  been  invented,  that  revival  of  religious  hate  by 
which  too  it  was  hoped  to  win  over  even  unbelievers  who 
had  deserted  the  Church.  But  to  hurl  the  people  against 
the  Jews  and  to  exploit  its  ancestral  passions  was  only  a  be- 
ginning; at  the  end  lay  a  return  to  slavery,  a  plunge  into 
darkness  and  ancient  bondage.  And  to-morrow  there  would 
be  Bongards,  Doloirs,  Savins,  and  Milhommes  of  a  still 
lower  type,  more  stupefied,  more  steeped  in  darkness  and 
falsehood  than  those  of  to-day,  if  the  children  should  still 
be  left  in  the  hands  of  the  Brothers  and  the  Jesuits,  on  the 
forms  of  the  many  Congregational  schools. 

It  would  not  be  sufficient  to  close  those  schools;  it  was 
also  necessary  to  purify  the  Communal  schools,  which  the 
stealthy  work  of  the  Church  had  ended  by  affecting,  par- 
alysing secular  education,  and  installing  reactionary  masters 

1  $2.316,000. 


TRUTH  155 

and  mistresses  among  the  teachers,  who  by  their  lessons  and 
their  examples  perpetuated  error.  For  one  man  like  Ferou, 
so  intelligent  and  brave,  even  if  maddened  by  misery,  for 
one  woman  like  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  all  heart  and 
reason,  how  many  disturbingly  worthless  ones  there  were — 
how  many,  too,  who  were  badly  disposed,  who  went  over  to 
the  enemy  and  did  the  greatest  harm!  There  were  Made- 
moiselle Rouzaires,  who  from  ambition  sided  with  the 
stronger  party  and  carried  their  interested  clericalism  to  ex- 
cess; there  were  Mignots  drifting,  allowing  themselves  to  be 
impelled  hither  and  thither  by  those  around  them;  there 
were  Doutrequins,  honest  old  Republicans,  who  had  become 
anti-Semites  and  reactionaries  from  an  error  of  patriotism ; 
and  behind  all  these  appeared  the  entire  elementary  staff 
of  the  country,  disturbed,  spoilt,  losing  its  way,  and  liable 
to  lead  the  children  confided  to  it,  the  generations  of  which 
the  future  would  be  compounded,  to  the  bottomless  pit. 
Marc  felt  a  chill  at  his  heart  as  he  thought  of  it.  Never 
before  had  the  peril  threatening  the  nation  seemed  to  him 
so  imminent  and  so  redoubtable. 

It  was  certain  that  the  elementary  schools  would  prove 
the  battle-ground  of  the  social  contest;  for  the  one  real 
question  was  to  decide  what  education  should  be  given  to 
those  masses  which,  little  by  little,  would  assuredly  dispos- 
sess the  middle  class  of  its  usurped  power.  Victorious  over 
the  expiring  nobility  in  1789,  the  bourgeoisie  had  replaced 
it,  and  for  a  whole  century  it  had  kept  possession  of  the  en- 
tire spoils,  refusing  to  the  masses  their  equitable  share.  At 
present  the  r6le  of  the  bourgeoisie  was  finished;  it  acknow- 
ledged it,  by  going  over  to  reaction,  desperate  as  it  felt  at 
the  idea  of  having  to  part  with  power,  terrified  by  the  rise 
of  the  democracy  which  was  certain  to  dispossess  it.  Vol- 
tairean  when  it  had  thought  itself  in  full  and  peaceful  en- 
joyment of  its  conquests,  clerical  now  that  in  its  anxious 
need  it  found  it  had  to  summon  reaction  to  its  help,  it  was 
worn  out,  rotted  by  abuse  of  power,  and  the  ever  advancing 
social  forces  would  eliminate  it  from  the  system.  The  en- 
ergy of  to-morrow  would  be  found  in  the  masses,  in  them 
slumbered  humanity's  huge  reserve  force  of  intelligence  and 
will.  Marc's  only  hope  now  was  in  those  children  of  the 
people  who  frequented  the  elementary  schools  from  one  to 
the  other  end  of  France.  They  constituted  the  raw  ma- 
terial out  of  which  the  future  nation  would  be  fashioned, 
and  it  was  necessary  to  educate  them  in  such  wise  that  they 


156  TRUTH 

might  discharge  their  duty  as  freed  citizens,  possessed  of 
knowledge  and  will  power,  released  from  all  the  absurd 
dogmas,  errors,  and  superstitions  which  destroy  human  lib- 
erty and  dignity. 

No  happiness  was  possible,  whether  moral  or  material, 
save  in  the  possession  of  knowledge.  The  view  inspired  by 
the  Gospel  dictum,  '  Happy  the  poor  in  spirit, '  '  had  held 
mankind  in  a  quagmire  of  wretchedness  and  bondage  for 
ages.  No,  no!  The  poor  in  spirit  are  perforce  mere  cattle, 
fit  flesh  for  slavery  and  for  suffering.  As  long  as  there 
shall  be  a  multitude  of  the  poor  in  spirit,  so  will  there  be  a 
multitude  of  wretched  beings,  mere  beasts  of  burden,  ex- 
ploited, preyed  upon  by  an  infinitesimal  minority  of  thieves 
and  bandits.  The  happy  people  will  one  day  be  that  which 
is  possessed  of  knowledge  and  will.  It  is  from  the  black 
pessimism  based  on  sundry  passages  of  the  Bible  that  the 
world  must  be  delivered — the  world,  terrified,  crushed  down 
for  more  than  two  thousand  years,  living  solely  for  the  sake 
of  death.  Nothing  could  be  more  dangerous  than  to  take 
the  old  Semite  doctrine  as  the  only  moral  and  social  code. 
Happy,  on  the  contrary,  are  those  who  know — happy  the 
intelligent,  the  men  of  will  and  action,  for  the  kingdom  of 
the  world  shall  belong  to  them!  That  was  the  cry  which 
now  arose  to  Marc's  lips,  from  his  whole  being,  in  a  great 
transport  of  faith  and  enthusiasm. 

And  all  at  once  he  arrived  at  a  decision :  he  would  accept 
Salvan's  offer,  he  would  come  to  Maillebois  as  elementary 
master,  and  he  would  contend  against  the  Church,  against 
that  contamination  of  the  people,  of  which  he  had  witnessed 
one  of  the  delirious  fits  at  the  ridiculous  ceremony  held  that 
afternoon.  He  would  work  for  the  liberation  of  the  humble, 
he  would  strive  to  make  them  free  citizens.  To  win  back 
those  masses  whom  he  saw  weighed  down  by  ignorance  and 
falsehood,  incapable  of  justice,  he  would  go  to  the  children 
and  to  the  children's  children,  instruct  them,  and,  little  by 
little,  create  a  people  of  truth  who,  then  alone,  would  be- 
come a  people  of  justice.  That  was  the  loftiest  duty,  the 
most  pressing  good  work,  that  on  which  depended  the 

This  is  how  the  French  render  the  well-known  words  of  the  Sermon 
on  the  Mount,  as  given  in  Matthew  v.  2.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
in  Luke  vi.  20,  only  the  word  '  poor '  is  given,  '  in  spirit '  being  omitted. 
I  must  confess  that  I  do  not  know  what  the  '  higher  criticism  '  has  to 
say  of  this  inconsistency,  and  I  am  not  learned  enough  to  express  an 
opinion  of  any  value  on  the  Greek  texts. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  157 

country's  very  salvation,  its  strength  and  glory  in  its  liber- 
ating and  justice-bringing  mission  through  the  ages  and 
through  the  other  nations.  And  if,  after  three  days'  hesita- 
tion and  anguish  at  the  idea  of  imperilling  the  happiness  he 
enjoyed  in  Genevieve's  arms,  a  moment  had  sufficed  for 
Marc  to  arrive  at  that  weighty  decision,  was  it  not  that  he 
had  also  found  himself  confronted  by  the  serious  problem  of 
the  position  of  woman,  whom  the  Church  had  turned  into  a 
mere  stupefied  serf,  an  instrument  of  falsity  and  destruction? 

What  would  they  become  as  wives  and  mothers,  those 
little  girls  whom  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  now  led  to  the 
Capuchins  ?  When  the  Church  had  seized  them  and  held 
them  by  their  senses,  their  weakness,  and  their  sufferings, 
it  would  never  release  them ;  it  would  employ  them  as  ter- 
rible engines  of  warfare,  to  demolish  men  and  pervert  child- 
ren. So  long  as  woman,  in  her  ancient  contest  with  man, 
with  respect  to  unjust  laws  and  iniquitous  moral  customs, 
should  thus  remain  the  property  and  the  weapon  of  the 
Church,  social  happiness  would  remain  impossible,  war 
would  be  perpetuated  between  the  disunited  sexes.  And 
woman  would  only  at  last  be  a  free  creature,  a  free  com- 
panion for  man,  disposing  of  herself  and  of  her  happiness 
for  the  happiness  of  her  husband  and  her  child,  on  the  day 
when  she  should  cease  to  belong  to  the  priest,  her  present 
master — he  who  disorganised  and  corrupted  her. 

With  respect  to  Marc  himself,  was  it  not  an  unacknow- 
ledged fear,  the  dread  of  some  drama,  which  might  ravage 
his  own  household,  that  had  made  him  tremble  and  recoil 
from  the  prospect  of  doing  his  duty  ?  The  sudden  decision 
he  had  taken  might  mean  a  struggle  at  his  own  hearth,  the 
necessity  of  doing  his  duty  to  those  of  his  own  home,  even 
though  his  heart  might  bleed  cruelly  the  while.  He  knew 
that  now;  thus  there  was  some  heroism  in  the  course  he 
chose  with  all  simplicity,  with  all  enthusiasm  for  the  good 
work  which  he  hoped  to  prosecute.  The  highest  rdlc  and 
the  noblest  in  a  nascent  democracy  is  that  of  the  poor  and 
scorned  elementary  schoolmaster,  appointed  to  teach  the 
humble,  to  train  them  to  be  happy  citizens,  the  builders  of 
the  future  City  of  Justice  and  Peace.  Marc  felt  it  was  so, 
and  he  suddenly  realised  the  exact  sense  of  his  mission,  his 
apostleship  of  Truth,  that  fervent  passion  to  acquire  Truth, 
certain  and  positive,  then  cry  it  aloud  and  teach  it  to  all, 
which  had  ever  possessed  him. 

Raising  his  eyes  to  the  railway  station,  the  young  man 


158  TRUTH 

suddenly  perceived  that  it  was  past  four  o'clock.  The  train 
which  he  and  his  wife  were  to  have  taken  had  gone,  and  it 
would  be  necessary  to  wait  till  six,  when  the  next  one 
started.  Almost  immediately  afterwards  he  saw  Genevieve 
approaching,  looking  much  distressed,  and  carrying  little 
Louise  in  her  arms  in  order  to  get  over  the  ground  more 
rapidly.  '  Ah!  my  friend,  you  must  forgive  me,  I  quite  for- 
got the  time,'  she  exclaimed.  '  Grandmother  detained  me, 
and  seemed  so  annoyed  by  my  impatience  to  join  you  that 
I  ended  by  no  longer  noticing  how  time  slipped  by.' 

She  had  seated  herself  on  the  bench  beside  him,  with 
Louise  on  her  lap.  He  smilingly  inclined  his  head  and 
kissed  the  child,  who  had  raised  her  little  hands  to  pull  his 
beard.  And  he  quietly  answered:  'Well,  we  will  wait  till 
six  o'clock,  my  dear.  There  is  nobody  to  interfere  with  us, 
we  can  remain  here.  Besides,  I  have  something  to  tell  you.' 

But  Louise  wanted  to  play,  and,  stamping  on  her  father's 
thighs,  she  cast  her  arms  about  his  neck. 

'  Has  she  been  good  ? '  he  asked. 

1  Oh !  she  always  is  at  grandmother's ;  she  's  afraid  of  being 
scolded.  But  now,  you  see,  she  wants  to  have  her  revenge. ' 

When  the  young  woman  had  managed  to  reseat  the  child 
on  her  lap  again,  she  inquired  of  her  husband:  '  What  is  it 
you  want  to  tell  me  ? ' 

'  Something  which  I  did  not  previously  speak  to  you 
about,  as  I  had  not  made  up  my  mind.  I  am  offered  the 
post  of  schoolmaster  here,  at  Maillebois,  and  I  am  going  to 
accept  it.  What  do  you  think  of  it  ? ' 

She  looked  at  him  in  amazement,  at  first  unable  to  reply. 
And  for  a  moment  in  her  eyes  he  plainly  detected  a  gleam 
of  joyous  surprise,  followed,  however,  by  increasing  anxiety. 

'  Yes,  what  do  you  think  of  it  ? '  he  repeated. 

'  I  think,  my  friend,  that  it  is  advancement,  such  as  you 
did  not  expect  so  soon — only,  the  position  will  not  be  an 
easy  one  here,  amid  such  exasperated  passions  —  your 
opinions,  too,  being  known  to  everybody.' 

'  No  doubt.  I  thought  of  that,  but  it  would  be  cowardly 
to  refuse  the  fight.' 

'But  to  speak  quite  plainly,  my  friend,  I  very  much  fear 
that  if  you  accept  the  post  it  will  lead  to  a  complete  rupture 
with  grandmother.  With  mother  we  might  still  get  on.  But, 
as  you  know,  grandmother  is  intractable  ;  she  will  imagine 
that  you  have  come  here  to  do  the  work  of  Antichrist.  It 
means  certain  rupture.' 


TRUTH  159 

A  pause,  full  of  embarrassment,  followed.  Then  Marc 
resumed :  '  So  you  advise  me  to  refuse  ?  You  also  would 
disapprove  of  it:  you  would  not  be  pleased  if  I  came  here  ? ' 

She  again  raised  her  eyes  to  his,  and  with  an  impulse  of 
great  sincerity  replied:  '  Disapprove  of  what  you  do  ?  You 
grieve  me,  my  friend :  why  do  you  say  that  ?  Act  as  your 
conscience  bids,  do  your  duty  as  you  understand  it.  You 
are  the  only  good  judge,  and  whatever  you  do  will  be  well 
done.' 

But,  though  she  spoke  those  words,  he  could  detect  that 
her  voice  was  trembling,  as  if  with  fear  of  some  unconfessed 
peril  which  she  felt  to  be  near  at  hand.  There  came  a  fresh 
pause,  during  which  her  husband  took  hold  of  her  hands 
and  caressed  them  lovingly  in  order  to  reassure  her. 

'  So  you  have  quite  made  up  your  mind  ? '  she  asked. 

'  Yes,  quite:  I  feel  that  I  should  be  acting  wrongly  if  I 
acted  otherwise.' 

'  Well,  as  we  still  have  an  hour  and  a  half  to  wait  for  our 
train,  I  think  we  ought  to  return  to  grandmother's  at  once, 
to  acquaint  her  with  your  decision.  ...  I  want  you  to 
behave  frankly  with  her,  not  as  if  you  were  hiding  things.' 

The  young  woman  was  still  looking  at  her  husband,  and 
at  that  moment  all  that  he  read  in  her  glance  was  a  great 
deal  of  loyalty  mingled  with  a  little  sadness. 

'  You  are  right,  my  darling, '  he  answered ;  '  let  us  go  to 
grandmother's  at  once.' 

They  walked  slowly  towards  the  Place  des  Capucins,  de- 
layed somewhat  by  the  little  legs  of  Louise,  whom  her 
mother  held  by  the  hand.  But  the  close  of  that  fine  April 
day  was  delightful,  and  they  covered  the  short  distance  in  a 
kind  of  reverie,  without  exchanging  a  word.  The  square 
had  become  deserted  again,  the  ladies'  house  seemed  to  be 
wrapped  in  its  wonted  somnolence.  They  found  Madame 
Duparque  seated  in  the  little  drawing-room,  resting  her  ail- 
ing leg  on  a  chair,  while  she  knitted  stockings  for  some 
charity.  Madame  Berthereau  was  embroidering  near  the 
window. 

Greatly  astonished  by  Genevieve's  return,  and  particu- 
larly by  the  presence  of  Marc,  the  grandmother  dropped  her 
knitting,  and,  without  even  telling  them  to  sit  down,  waited 
for  them  to  speak.  When  Marc  had  acquainted  her  with 
the  position,  the  offer  made  to  him,  his  decision  to  accept 
it,  and  his  desire  to  inform  her  of  it  in  a  deferential  way, 
she  gave  a  sudden  start,  then  shrugged  her  shoulders. 


160  TRUTH 

4  But  it  is  madness,  my  boy,'  said  she  ;  '  you  won't  keep 
the  appointment  a  month.' 

'  Why  not  ? ' 

4  Why  ?  Because  you  are  not  the  schoolmaster  we  require. 
You  are  well  aware  of  the  good  spirit  of  the  district,  where 
religion  is  securing  such  splendid  triumphs.  And  with  your 
revolutionary  ideas  your  position  would  be  untenable,  you 
would  soon  be  at  war  with  the  whole  population.' 

'  Well,  I  should  be  at  war.  Unfortunately  one  has  to 
fight  in  order  to  be  victorious.' 

Thereupon  the  old  lady  became  angry:  '  Don't  speak 
foolishly! '  she  exclaimed.  '  There  seems  to  be  no  end  to 
your  pride  and  rebellion  against  religion !  But  you  are  only 
a  grain  of  sand,  my  poor  boy,  and  I  really  pity  you  when  I 
see  you  imagining  yourself  strong  enough  to  conquer  in  a 
battle  in  which  both  Heaven  and  man  will  annihilate  you!  ' 

4  It  is  not  I  who  am  strong,  it  is  reason,  it  is  truth. ' 

4  Yes,  I  know.  .  .  .  But  it  is  of  no  consequence! 
Just  listen  to  me!  I  will  not  have  you  here  as  schoolmas- 
ter. I  am  anxious  for  my  tranquillity  and  honourability.  It 
would  be  too  much  grief  and  shame  for  me  to  see  our  Gen- 
evieve  here,  in  Maillebois,  as  the  wife  of  a  man  denying 
both  God  and  country,  and  scandalising  all  pious  souls  by 
his  actions.  It  is  madness,  I  tell  you !  You  will  immediately 
refuse. ' 

Madame  Berthereau,  sorely  grieved  by  this  sudden  dis- 
pute, lowered  her  head  over  her  embroidery  in  order  that 
she  might  not  have  to  intervene.  Genevieve  remained  erect, 
but  had  become  very  pale,  while  little  Louise,  whose  hand 
she  still  held,  felt  so  frightened  that  she  hid  her  face  in  the 
folds  of  her  mother's  skirt.  But  Marc  was  determined  to  re- 
main calm,  and  without  even  raising  his  voice  he  answered: 

4  No,  I  cannot  refuse.  I  have  come  to  a  decision,  and  I 
merely  desired  to  inform  you  of  it.' 

At  this  Madame  Duparque,  although  she  was  scarcely 
able  to  move,  by  reason  of  her  attack  of  gout,  lost  all  self- 
control.  As  a  rule  nobody  dared  to  resist  her,  and  she  was 
exasperated  at  now  finding  herself  confronted  by  such  quiet 
determination.  A  wave  of  terrible  anger  rose  within  her, 
and  words  she  would  rather  have  left  unspoken  rushed  from 
her  lips:  '  Come!  say  everything,'  she  cried;  '  confess  it,  you 
are  only  coming  here  in  order  that  you  may  busy  yourself 
on  the  spot  with  that  abominable  Simon  case!  Yes!  you  are 
on  the  side  of  those  ignoble  Jews;  you  still  think  of  stirring 


TRUTH  l6l 

up  all  that  filth,  and  pouncing  upon  some  innocent  to  send 
him  yonder,  in  the  place  of  the  vile  assassin  who  was  so 
justly  condemned!  And  that  innocent,  you  are  still  stub- 
bornly seeking  him  among  the  worthiest  of  God's  servants! 
Is  that  not  so?  Confess  it!  Why  don't  you  confess  it?' 

Marc  could  not  help  smiling;  for  he  fully  understood  that 
the  real  cause  of  all  the  anger  with  which  he  was  assailed 
was  indeed  the  Simon  case,  the  dread  lest  he  should  take 
it  in  hand  again,  and  at  last  discover  the  real  culprit.  He 
could  divine  that  behind  Madame  Duparque  there  stood  her 
confessor,  Father  Crabot,  and  that  the  Jesuits  and  their 
allies,  in  order  to  prevent  him  from  carrying  on  a  campaign 
at  Maillebois,  were  determined  to  tolerate  there  no  school- 
master who  was  not  virtually  in  their  hands. 

'  Why,  certainly, '  he  answered  in  his  quiet  way,  '  I  am 
still  convinced  of  my  comrade  Simon's  innocence,  and  I 
shall  do  everything  I  can  to  demonstrate  it.' 

Madame  Duparque  in  her  rage  jerked  herself  first  towards 
Madame  Berthereau  and  then  towards  Genevieve.  '  You 
hear  him,  and  you  say  nothing!  Our  name  will  be  brought 
into  that  campaign  of  ignominy.  Our  daughter  will  be  seen 
in  the  camp  of  the  enemies  of  society  and  religion !  . 
Come,  come,  you  who  are  her  mother  ought  to  tell  her  that 
such  a  thing  is  out  of  question,  that  she  must  prevent  such 
infamy  for  the  honour  of  herself  and  that  of  all  of  us. ' 

The  old  lady's  last  words  were  addressed  to  Madame 
Berthereau,  who,  utterly  scared  by  the  quarrel,  had  now  let 
her  embroidery  fall  from  her  hands.  For  a  moment  she 
remained  silent,  for  it  cost  her  an  effort  to  emerge  from  the 
gloomy  self-effacement  in  which  she  usually  lived.  At  last, 
making  up  her  mind,  she  said:  '  Your  grandmother  is  right, 
my  girl.  Your  duty  requires  that  you  should  not  tolerate 
actions  in  which  you  would  have  your  share  of  responsibility 
before  God.  Your  husband  will  listen  to  you  if  he  loves 
you.  Indeed,  you  are  the  only  one  who  can  speak  to  his 
heart.  Your  father  never  went  against  my  desires  in  mat- 
ters of  conscience. ' 

Genevieve  turned  towards  Marc,  at  the  same  time  pressing 
little  Louise  to  her  side.  She  was  stirred  to  the  depths  of 
her  being:  all  her  girlhood  at  the  Convent  of  the  Visitation, 
all  her  pious  training  and  education,  seemed  to  revive, 
filling  her  with  vertigo.  And  yet  she  repeated  what  she  had 
already  said  to  her  husband:  '  Marc  is  the  only  good  judge; 
he  will  do  what  he  deems  to  be  his  duty.' 


1 62  TRUTH 

Despite  her  ailing  leg,  Madame  Duparque  had  managed 
to  struggle  to  her  feet.  '  Is  that  your  answer  ? '  she  cried 
wrathfully.  '  You,  whom  we  brought  up  in  a  Christian 
manner — you  who  were  well  beloved  by  God — you  already 
deny  Him,  and  live  religionless,  like  some  beast  of  the  fields? 
And  you  choose  Satan  without  making  even  an  effort  to 
overcome  him  ?  Ah,  well,  your  husband  is  only  the  more 
guilty,  and  he  shall  be  punished  for  that  also;  you  will  be 
punished  both  of  you,  and  God's  curse  shall  extend  even  to 
your  child! ' 

She  stretched  forth  her  arms,  and  stood  there  in  such  a 
threatening  posture  that  little  Louise,  who  was  terror- 
stricken,  began  to  sob.  Marc  quickly  caught  up  the  child 
and  pressed  her  to  his  heart,  while  she,  as  if  eager  for  his 
protection,  flung  her  arms  around  his  neck.  And  Genevieve 
likewise  drew  near  and  leant  against  the  shoulder  of  the 
man  to  whom  she  had  given  her  life. 

4  Be  gone!  be  gone!  all  three  of  you!'  cried  Madame 
Duparque.  '  Go  to  your  folly  and  your  pride,  they  will 
work  your  ruin !  You  hear  me,  Genevieve:  there  shall  be 
no  more  intercourse  between  us  until  you  come  back  here 
in  all  humility.  For  you  will  come  back  some  day;  you  be- 
longed to  God  too  long  for  it  to  be  otherwise;  besides,  I 
shall  pray  to  Him  so  well  that  He  will  know  how  to  win  you 
back  entirely.  .  .  .  But  now  be  gone,  be  gone,  I  will 
have  nothing  more  to  do  with  you ! ' 

Torn  by  anguish,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  Genevieve 
looked  at  her  distracted  mother,  who  was  weeping  silently. 
So  heartrending  was  the  scene  that  the  young  woman  again 
seemed  to  hesitate ;  but  Marc  gently  took  her  hand  and  led 
her  away.  Madame  Duparque  had  already  sunk  into  her 
arm-chair,  and  the  little  house  relapsed  into  its  frigid  gloom 
and  dismal  silence. 

On  the  following  Thursday  Marc  repaired  to  Beaumont 
to  inform  Salvan  that  he  accepted  his  offer.  And  early  in 
May  he  received  the  appointment,  quitted  Jonville,  and  in- 
stalled himself  at  Maillebois  as  head-master  of  the  Boys' 
Elementary  School. 


BOOK  II 
I 

ONE  sunny  morning  in  May  Marc,  for  the  first  time, 
took  his  class  at  Maillebois.  On  the  side  facing 
the  square,  the  large  schoolroom  had  three  lofty 
windows,  through  whose  panes  of  ground  glass  streamed  a 
gay,  white,  and  vivid  light.  In  front  of  the  master's  desk, 
which  stood  on  a  small  platform  reached  by  three  steps,  the 
boys'  little  double  desks  were  set  out,  four  in  each  of  the 
eight  rows. 

Loud  laughter,  in  fact  quite  an  uproar,  burst  forth  when 
one  of  the  lads,  on  proceeding  to  his  seat,  stumbled  and  fell 
intentionally. 

'  Now,  boys,'  Marc  quietly  said,  'you  must  behave  your- 
selves. I  am  not  going  to  punish  you,  but  you  will  find  it 
more  beneficial  and  pleasant  to  behave  yourselves  with  me. 
.  .  .  Monsieur  Mignot,  please  call  the  register.' 

Marc  had  wished  to  have  Mignot's  assistance  on  this  first 
occasion,  and  the  other's  demeanour  plainly  indicated  his 
hostility  and  the  surprise  he  felt  at  having  as  his  principal 
a  man  who  had  compromised  himself  so  greatly  in  the  recent 
scandals.  Mignot  had  even  joined  in  the  boys'  laughter 
when  one  of  them  had  stumbled  and  fallen  by  way  of  amus- 
ing the  others.  However,  the  calling  of  the  register  began. 

'  Auguste  Doloir! ' 

'Present!'  exclaimed  a  merry-looking  lad  in  so  gruff  a 
voice  that  the  whole  class  again  exploded. 

Augaste  was  the  mason's  elder  son,  and  it  was  he  who 
had  stumbled  a  few  minutes  previously.  Nine  years  of  age, 
he  looked  vigorous  and  intelligent,  but  he  was  wrong-headed, 
and  his  pranks  often  revolutionised  the  school. 

'Charles  Doloir!  '  called  Mignot. 

'  Present! '  And  this  time  Auguste's  brother,  two  years 
his  junior,  answered  in  so  shrill  a  voice  that  the  storm  of 
laughter  began  afresh.  Though  Charleswas  of  a  more  refined 
and  gentle  nature  than  Auguste,  he  invariably  seconded  him. 

163 


164  TRUTH 

But  Marc  let  the  matter  pass.  He  wished  to  be  patient 
and  to  inflict  no  punishments  that  first  day.  While  the 
calling  of  the  register  proceeded  he  glanced  round  the  large 
room  where  he  would  have  to  deal  with  all  those  turbulent 
lads.  At  Jonville  there  had  been  no  such  lavish  provision 
of  blackboards — one  behind  his  desk  for  himself,  and  two 
others,  right  and  left,  for  the  boys — nor  such  a  display  of 
coloured  prints  representing  weights  and  measures,  the 
mineral,  vegetable,  and  animal  kingdoms,  useful  and  harm- 
ful insects,  mushrooms  and  toadstools,  without  counting  the 
large  and  numerous  maps.  There,  too,  in  a  cabinet  was  a 
collection  of  the  '  solid  bodies, '  as  well  as  various  instru- 
ments for  the  teaching  of  physics  and  chemistry.  But  Marc 
did  not  find  among  his  new  pupils  the  good  understanding 
and  cordiality  which  had  prevailed  among  those  whom  he 
had  left  at  Jonville.  The  neglect  of  his  weak  and  ailing 
predecessor,  Mdchain,  had  evidently  helped  to  disorganise 
the  school,  which,  after  numbering  nearly  sixty  pupils,  could 
now  muster  scarcely  forty.  Thus  its  position  was  sorely 
compromised,  and  the  hard  task  of  restoring  it  to  prosperity 
and  orderliness  lay  before  him. 

'  Achille  Savin!  '  Mignot  called. 

There  was  no  answer,  and  he  therefore  repeated  the  name. 
Yet  both  the  Savins,  the  twin  sons  of  the  tax-collector's 
clerk,  sat  at  one  of  the  double  desks,  with  their  heads 
lowered  and  a  sly  expression  on  their  faces.  Though  they 
were  only  eight  years  of  age  they  seemed  already  proficient 
in  prudent  hypocrisy. 

'  Achille  and  Philippe  Savin ! '  Mignot  repeated,  glancing 
at  them. 

Thereupon,  making  up  their  minds,  they  answered 
leisurely  but  in  unison,  '  Present!  ' 

Marc,  who  felt  surprised,  inquired  why  they  had  pre- 
viously remained  silent;  but  he  could  obtain  no  answer 
from  them ;  they  looked  at  him  distrustfully  as  if  they  had 
to  defend  themselves  from  him. 

'  Fernand  Bongard! '  Mignot  continued. 

Again  nobody  answered.  Fernand,  the  peasant  farmer's 
son,  a  sturdy  boy  of  ten,  sat  there  huddled  up,  leaning  on 
his  elbows,  with  a  stupefied  expression  on  his  face.  He 
seemed  to  be  sleeping  with  his  eyes  open.  But  one  of  his 
schoolfellows  gave  him  a  nudge,  and  then  in  a  scared  way 
he  shouted  '  Present! ' 

This  time  none  of  the  others  dared  to  laugh,  for  they 


TRUTH  165 

feared  Fernand's  fists.  And,  silence  continuing,  Mignot 
was  able  to  call  the  last  name :  '  Se"bastien  Milhomme ! ' 

Marc  had  already  recognised  Madame  Alexandre's  son. 
Eight  years  of  age,  with  a  face  all  gentleness,  refinement, 
and  intelligence,  he  sat  at  the  first  desk  on  the  right  hand. 
And  the  young  man  smiled  at  the  lad,  charmed  by  his  can- 
did eyes,  in  which  he  fancied  he  could  detect  the  early 
sparkle  of  a  young  mind,  such  as  he  desired  to  awaken. 

'  Present ! '  Se"bastien  answered  in  a  clear  gay  voice,  which 
to  Marc  seemed  like  music  compared  with  all  the  full  or 
mocking  voices  of  the  others. 

The  calling  of  the  register  was  finished;  and  at  a  sign 
from  Mignot  all  the  boys  now  rose  for  prayers.  Since 
Simon's  departure,  Me"chain  had  allowed  prayers  to  be  said 
at  the  beginning  and  the  end  of  each  class,  yielding,  in  this 
respect,  to  the  stealthy  persuasion  of  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire,  who,  citing  her  own  practice  as  an  example,  asserted 
that  the  fear  of  hell  greatly  helped  to  keep  her  pupils  quiet. 
Moreover,  parents  were  pleased  with  the  prayer-saying,  and 
Mauraisin,  the  Elementary  Inspector,  regarded  it  with 
favour,  although  it  in  no  wise  figured  in  the  regulations. 
That  morning,  however,  Marc  swiftly  intervened,  saying  in 
his  quiet  and  resolute  way:  '  Sit  down,  boys.  You  are  not 
here  to  say  prayers.  You  may  say  them  at  home  if  your 
fathers  and  mothers  desire  it. ' 

Mignot,  nonplussed,  looked  at  him  inquisitively.  Ah! 
well,  he  would  not  exercise  much  authority  at  Maillebois  if 
he  began  by  suppressing  prayers!  Marc  fully  understood 
the  meaning  of  his  assistant's  glance,  for  ever  since  his  ar- 
rival in  the  little  town  he  had  been  conscious  of  the  general 
feeling,  the  conviction  that  he  was  destined  to  encounter 
rapid  and  complete  defeat.  Besides,  Salvan  had  warned 
him,  and  had  recommended  extreme  prudence,  a  course  of 
skilful  tolerance  during  the  first  months.  If  Marc,  after 
due  reflection,  ventured  to  suppress  prayers,  it  was  as  a  first 
step,  the  result  of  which  would  enable  him  to  feel  his  way. 
He  would  have  liked  to  remove  the  big  crucifix  which 
M^chain,  exhausted  by  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  on 
him,  had  allowed  to  be  hung  over  the  blackboard  behind 
the  master's  desk.  But  the  young  man  felt  that  he  could 
hardly  do  that  immediately;  it  was  necessary  that  he  should 
establish  himself  firmly  in  his  position  and  know  his  ground 
thoroughly  before  he  engaged  in  a  real  battle.  Apart  from 
the  crucifix  he  was  also  irritated  by  four  glaring  chromo- 


1 66  TRUTH 

lithographs  which  hung  from  the  walls,  one  of  them  repre- 
senting the  fable  of  St.  Genevieve  delivering  Paris,  another 
Joan  of  Arc  listening  to  the  voices  from  heaven,  another  St. 
Louis  healing  the  sick  by  the  touch  of  his  hands,  and  an- 
other Napoleon  riding  across  a  battlefield.  Miracle  and 
force,  religious  lie  and  military  violence  were  ever  given  as 
examples,  ever  sown  as  seed  in  the  minds  of  the  children 
who  would  become  the  citizens  of  to-morrow.  Marc  asked 
himself  if  all  that  ought  not  to  be  changed,  if  education 
ought  not  to  be  begun  afresh  at  the  very  beginning,  with 
lessons  of  truth  and  solidarity,  if  one  was  to  create  free  and 
intelligent  men,  capable  of  practising  justice. 

The  first  class  was  duly  held,  Marc  gently  yet  firmly  tak- 
ing possession  of  his  post  among  his  new  pupils,  whose 
curiosity  he  found  tinged  with  rebellion.  The  pacific  con- 
quest of  their  minds  and  hearts  which  the  young  master 
desired  to  effect  proceeded  patiently  day  by  day.  At  the 
outset  he  occasionally  experienced  some  secret  bitterness, 
for  his  mind  wandered  back  to  the  well-loved  pupils,  the 
children  of  his  brain,  whom  he  had  left  at  Jonville,  and 
whom  he  knew  to  be  now  in  the  hands  of  one  of  his  former 
colleagues,  Jauffre,  with  whose  spirit  of  intrigue  and  thirst 
for  immediate  success  he  was  well  acquainted.  He  felt 
some  remorse  at  the  thought  that  he  had  abandoned  his 
work  yonder  to  one  who  would  surely  destroy  it,  and  his 
only  consolation  lay  in  the  circumstance  that  he  had  taken 
up  yet  more  pressing  and  necessary  work  at  Maillebois. 
To  that  work  he  became  more  and  more  passionately  at- 
tached, devoting  himself  to  it  with  enthusiastic  faith  as  the 
days  flew  by  and  lesson  followed  lesson. 

On  the  morrow  of  the  General  Elections,  which  took 
place  during  that  month  of  May,  quietude  fell  upon  the 
region.  Prior  to  those  elections  silence  and  restraint  with 
respect  to  Simon's  case  had  been  declared  imperative,  in 
order  that  the  result  of  the  polling  might  not  prove  dis- 
astrous for  the  Republic;  and  directly  those  elections  were 
over — the  new  Chamber  of  Deputies  being  composed  of 
virtually  the  same  men  as  the  previous  one — silence  was 
again  declared  to  be  necessary,  lest,  by  raising  inopportune 
questions,  one  should  retard  the  realisation  of  promised 
reforms.  The  truth  was  that  after  all  the  battling  of  the 
electoral  campaign  the  successful  candidates  desired  to  en- 
joy the  dearly-bought  fruits  of  victory  in  peace.  Thus,  at 
Beaumont,  neither  Lemarrois  nor  Marcilly,  on  being  re- 


TRUTH  167 

elected,  was  willing  to  mention  Simon's  name,  although 
each  had  promised  to  act  as  soon  as  his  mandate  should  be 
renewed  and  he  should  no  longer  have  to  fear  the  blindness 
of  universal  suffrage.  But  at  present  it  was  held  that  Simon 
had  been  judged  and  well  judged;  in  fact  the  slightest 
allusion  to  his  affair  was  deemed  contrary  to  patriotism. 
Naturally  enough  the  same  views  prevailed  at  Maillebois. 
Darras,  the  Mayor,  even  begged  Marc,  in  the  interest  of 
the  unhappy  prisoner  and  his  relatives,  to  do  nothing  what- 
ever, but  to  wait  for  some  wakening  of  public  opinion. 
Meantime  absolute  forgetfulness  was  effected,  perfect  silence 
was  enjoined,  as  if  there  were  no  Simonists  or  anti-Simonists 
left. 

Marc  had  to  resign  himself  to  the  position,  particularly 
as  he  was  entreated  in  that  sense  by  the  ever  humble  and 
anxious  Lehmanns,  and  even  by  David,  who,  with  all  his 
heroic  tenacity,  understood  the  necessity  of  patience.  Yet 
Simon's  brother  was  now  following  up  a  serious  clue.  In- 
directly and  without  positive  proof  thereof,  he  had  heard 
of  the  illegal  communication  which  President  Gragnon  had 
made  to  the  jury  in  their  retiring  room  prior  to  the  verdict; 
and  if  he  could  only  establish  the  fact  that  this  communica- 
tion had  been  really  made,  the  annulment  of  all  the  pro- 
ceedings would  necessarily  follow.  But  David  was  conscious 
of  the  difficulties  of  the  times,  and  prosecuted  his  inquiries 
with  the  greatest  secrecy  for  fear  of  warning  his  adversaries. 
Marc,  though  of  a  more  feverish  spirit,  at  last  consented  to 
follow  the  same  tactics  and  feign  forgetfulness.  Thus  the 
Simon  affair  began  to  slumber  as  if  it  were  ended  and  for- 
gotten, whereas,  in  reality,  it  remained  the  secret  sore,  the 
poisoned,  incurable  wound  of  which  the  social  body — ever 
exposed  to  the  danger  of  some  sudden  and  mortal  outburst 
of  delirium — was  dying.  For,  be  it  remembered,  one  single 
act  of  injustice  may  suffice  for  a  whole  nation  to  be  stricken 
with  dementia  and  slowly  die. 

In  this  position  of  affairs  Marc  for  a  time  was  able  to  de- 
vote himself  entirely  to  his  school  duties,  and  he  did  so  with 
the  conviction  that  he  was  contributing  to  the  only  work  by 
which  iniquity  may  be  destroyed  and  its  renewal  pre- 
vented— that  work  which  consists  in  diffusing  knowledge 
and  sowing  the  seeds  of  truth  among  the  rising  generations. 
Never  before  had  he  understood  so  fully  the  terrible  diffi- 
culties of  the  task.  He  found  himself  utterly  alone.  He 
felt  that  his  pupils  and  their  parents,  his  assistant  Mignot, 


l68  TRUTH 

and  his  neighbour  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  were  all  against 
him.  And  the  times  were  disastrous;  the  Brothers'  school 
recruited  five  more  pupils  from  the  Communal  school  during 
Marc's  first  month.  A  blast  of  unpopularity  threatened  to 
sweep  the  young  man  away.  Parents  went  to  the  Ignoran- 
tines  in  order  to  save  their  children  from  the  abominations 
of  that  new  secular  master  who  had  suppressed  prayers  on 
the  very  day  he  had  entered  upon  his  functions.  Thus 
Brother  Fulgence  was  quite  triumphant.  He  was  again 
assisted  by  Brothers  Gorgias  and  Isidore,  who  had  disap- 
peared for  a  while  after  Simon's  trial,  and  who  now  had 
been  recalled,  by  way  of  showing,  no  doubt,  that  the  com- 
munity deemed  itself  to  be  above  suspicion.  If  Brother 
Lazarus,  the  third  assistant,  had  not  returned  to  Maillebois 
with  the  others,  the  reason  was  that  he  had  died  during  his 
absence.  The  others  remained  the  masters  of  the  town, 
whose  streets  were  always  full  of  cassocks. 

For  Marc  the  worst  was  the  mocking  contempt  with  which 
all  those  folk  seemed  to  regard  him.  They  did  not  conde- 
scend to  make  any  violent  attack  on  him,  they  waited  for 
him  to  commit  suicide  by  some  act  of  stupendous  folly. 
Mignot's  demeanour  on  the  first  day  had  become  that  of  the 
whole  district.  As  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  said,  it  was  ex- 
pected that  Marc  would  render  his  position  untenable  in 
less  than  two  months.  The  young  man  detected  the  hopes 
of  his  adversaries  by  the  manner  in  which  Inspector  Mau- 
raisin  spoke  to  him  on  the  occasion  of  his  first  visit.  Mau- 
raisin,  knowing  that  Marc  was  covered  by  Salvan  and  Le 
Barazer,  displayed  a  kind  of  ironical  indulgence,  allowing 
the  young  man  to  follow  his  own  course,  but  watching 
stealthily  for  some  serious  blunder  which  would  enable  him 
to  apply  for  his  removal  to  another  part.  He  said  nothing 
about  the  suppression  of  prayers,  he  desired  something 
more  decisive,  an  ensemble  of  crushing  facts.  The  Inspector 
was  seen  laughing  over  the  matter  with  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire, one  of  his  favourites,  and  from  that  moment  Marc 
was  surrounded  by  spies,  eager  to  denounce  both  his  ex- 
pressions of  opinion  and  his  actions. 

Every  time  that  Marc  called  upon  Salvan  in  search  of  a 
little  comfort,  his  protector  repeated  to  him:  '  Be  prudent, 
my  friend.  .  .  .  Yesterday  Le  Barazer  received  another 
anonymous  letter  denouncing  you  as  a  poisoner  and  a 
henchman  of  hell.  You  know  that  I  wish  all  success  to 
the  good  work,  but  I  also  think  that  it  may  be  compromised 


TRUTH  169 

by  precipitate  action.  As  a  beginning,  render  yourself 
necessary,  bring  back  affluence  to  the  school,  get  yourself 
liked.' 

At  this  Marc,  however  bitter  his  feelings,  ended  by  smil- 
ing :  '  You  are  right,  I  feel  it  is  so, '  he  answered ;  '  it  is  by 
force  of  wisdom  and  affection  that  one  must  conquer.' 

He,  Genevieve,  and  little  Louise  were  now  dwelling  in 
the  quarters  formerly  allotted  to  Simon.  The  lodging  was 
larger  and  more  comfortable  than  that  of  Jonville.  There 
were  two  bedrooms  and  two  sitting-rooms,  besides  a  kitchen 
and  dependencies.  And  the  whole  was  very  clean  and  very 
bright,  full  of  sunshine,  and  overlooked  a  fairly  large  garden 
in  which  vegetables  and  flowers  grew.  But  the  young 
couple's  furniture  was  scanty;  and  since  their  quarrel  with 
Madame  Duparque,  it  was  difficult  for  them  to  make  both 
ends  meet,  for  Marc's  meagre  salary  was  all  they  had  to  de- 
pend upon.  That  salary  now  amounted  to  twelve  hundred 
francs  a  year,  but  it  really  represented  no  more  than  the 
thousand  francs  allowed  at  Jonville,  for  there  Marc  had 
also  received  payment  as  parish  clerk,  which  post  was  not 
to  be  thought  of  at  Maillebois.  And  how  were  they  to 
manage  on  a  hundred  francs  a  month  in  that  little  town 
where  living  was  more  expensive  than  in  the  village?  How 
were  they  to  maintain  some  little  appearance  of  dignity  and 
comfort?  How  was  Marc  to  wear  fairly  respectable  frock 
coats,  such  as  usage  demanded?  It  was  a  grave  problem, 
the  solution  of  which  required  prodigies  of  thrift,  continuous 
secret  heroism  in  all  the  petty  details  of  life.  They  often 
ate  dry  bread  in  order  that  they  might  have  clean  linen. 

But,  in  Genevieve,  Marc  found  a  valuable,  an  admirable 
helpmate.  She  renewed  the  exploits  she  had  accomplished 
at  Jonville,  she  managed  to  provide  for  all  the  requirements 
of  the  home,  without  allowing  much  of  its  penury  to  be  seen. 
She  had  to  attend  to  everything — cooking,  washing,  and 
mending — and  Louise  was  ever  all  smiles  and  smartness  in 
her  light-hued  little  frocks.  If  Mignot,  according  to  usage, 
had  taken  his  meals  with  his  principal,  the  money  paid  for 
his  board  might  have  helped  Genevieve  slightly.  But  the 
young  bachelor,  who  had  his  own  quarters  on  the  other  side 
of  the  landing,  preferred  to  patronise  a  neighbouring  eating- 
house,  perhaps  in  order  to  mark  his  hostility  and  to  avoid 
compromising  himself  by  any  companionship  with  a  man 
for  whom  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  predicted  the  worst  catas- 
trophes. He,  Mignot,  with  his  paltry  monthly  salary  of 


I/O  TRUTH 

seventy-one  francs  and  twenty-five  centimes,1  led  the  usual 
wretched  life  of  a  young  assistant-master,  ill  clad  and  ill 
fed,  with  no  other  diversion  within  his  reach  than  that  of 
fishing  on  Thursdays  and  Sundays.  This  rendered  him  all 
the  more  ill-tempered  and  distrustful,  as  though  indeed  it 
were  Marc's  fault  if  he  partook  of  such  sorry  messes  at 
the  eating-house.  Yet  Genevieve  displayed  solicitude  for 
his  welfare.  She  offered  to  mend  his  linen,  and  one 
evening,  when  he  was  suffering  from  a  cold,  she  hastened  to 
make  him  some  herb-drink.  As  she  and  her  husband  said, 
the  young  fellow  was  not  bad-hearted,  he  was  badly  advised. 
Perhaps,  by  showing  him  some  kindness  and  equity,  they 
might  at  last  win  him  over  to  better  sentiments. 

That  which  Genevieve  dared  not  say,  for  fear  of  grieving 
Marc,  was  that  the  home  suffered  particularly  from  the 
quarrel  with  Madame  Duparque.  In  former  days  the  grand- 
mother had  provided  Louise  with  clothes,  made  presents, 
and  rendered  assistance  at  difficult  times.  Now  that  the 
young  people  were  at  Maillebois,  only  a  few  doors  distant 
from  the  old  lady,  she  might  often  have  helped  them. 
Under  the  circumstances  it  was  very  embarrassing  to  live 
so  near,  and  to  be  obliged  to  turn  one's  head  aside  every 
time  one  met  her.  On  two  occasions  little  Louise,  who, 
being  only  three  years  of  age,  could  not  understand  the 
situation,  held  out  her  arms  and  called  when  the  old  lady 
passed,  in  such  wise  that  the  fated  reconciliation  ended  by 
taking  place.  Genevieve,  on  returning  home  one  day,  in 
a  state  of  great  emotion,  related  that  she  had  yielded  to 
circumstances  and  had  embraced  her  grandmother  and 
mother  on  meeting  them  on  the  Place  des  Capucins,  where 
Louise,  in  all  innocence,  had  run  forward  and  cast  herself 
into  their  arms. 

At  this  confession  Marc,  in  his  turn,  kissed  his  wife,  say- 
ing with  a  good-natured  smile:  '  But  that  is  all  right,  my 
darling.  For  your  sake  and  Louise's  I  am  well  pleased 
with  the  reconciliation.  It  was  bound  to  come,  and  if  I  am 
on  bad  terms  with  those  ladies  you  surely  don't  imagine  that 
I  am  such  a  barbarian  as  to  demand  the  same  of  you.' 

'  No,  my  friend,'  Genevieve  replied,  '  only  it  is  very  em- 
barrassing in  a  family  when  the  wife  visits  a  place  where  her 
husband  cannot  go.' 

4  Why  should  it  be  embarrassing?     For  the  sake  of  peace 

1  A  little  less  than  $14. 


TRUTH  I/I 

it  is  best  that  I  should  not  call  on  your  grandmother  again, 
for  I  cannot  possibly  agree  with  her.  But  there  is  nothing 
to  prevent  you  and  the  little  one  from  visiting  her  and  your 
mother  also,  from  time  to  time.' 

Genevieve  had  become  grave,  her  eyes  fell,  and  while  she 
reflected  she  quivered. 

'  I  should  have  preferred  not  to  go  to  grandmother's  with- 
out you,'  she  said.  'I  feel  firmer  when  we  are  together. 

.  .  But  you  are  right,  I  understand  that  it  would  be 
painful  for  you  to  accompany  me,  and,  on  the  other  hand, 
it  is  difficult  for  me  to  break  off  now.' 

Thus  the  question  was  settled.  At  first  Genevieve  went 
but  once  a  week  to  the  little  house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins, 
taking  Louise  with  her,  and  spending  an  hour  there  during 
the  school  work  of  Marc,  who  contented  himself  with  bow- 
ing to  the  ladies  when  he  met  them. 

And  now,  for  a  period  of  two  years,  with  infinite  patience 
and  good  nature,  Marc  prosecuted  the  conquest  of  his  pupils 
amid  hostile  surroundings  and  innumerable  worries.  He 
was  a  born  teacher,  one  who  knew  how  to  become  a  child 
again  in  order  that  children  might  understand  him.  And, 
in  particular,  he  strove  to  be  gay;  he  willingly  joined  in  his 
pupils'  play,  behaving  as  if  he  were  simply  a  companion,  an 
elder  brother.  And  in  the  school  work  his  strength  lay  in 
his  power  to  cast  his  science  aside,  to  place  himself  within 
the  reach  of  young  and  imperfectly  awakened  minds,  by 
finding  easy  explanatory  words  suited  to  each  occasion.  It 
was  as  if  he  himself  were  still  somewhat  ignorant,  and  par- 
ticipated in  the  delight  of  learning.  Heavily  laden  as  the 
curriculum  might  be,  what  with  reading,  writing,  grammar, 
orthography,  composition,  arithmetic,  history,  geography, 
elementary  science,  singing,  gymnastics,  notions  of  agricul- 
ture, manual  work,  morals  and  civic  instruction,  he  passed 
nothing  by  until  the  lads  had  understood  it.  All  his  first 
efforts  indeed  were  concentrated  on  method,  in  order  that 
nothing  taught  might  be  lost,  but  that  everything  might  be 
positively  and  fully  assimilated. 

Ah!  how  fervently  did  Marc  devote  himself  to  that  sow- 
ing and  cultivation  of  truth !  He  strove  to  plan  things  in 
such  wise  that  truth  might  impose  itself  on  his  pupils  by  its 
own  power,  nourish  their  expanding  minds,  and  become 
both  their  flesh  and  their  brains.  And  what  truth  it  was! 
It  so  happens  that  every  error  claims  to  be  truth.  Does 
not  even  the  Roman  Catholic  Church,  though  based  on 


172  TRUTH 

absurd  dogmas,  pretend  that  it  is  the  sole  truth?  Thus  Marc 
began  by  teaching  that  there  is  no  truth  outside  the  pale  of 
reason,  logic,  and  particularly  experiment.  When  the  son 
of  a  peasant  or  a  workman  is  told  by  his  schoolmaster  that 
the  world  is  round  and  revolves  in  space,  he  accepts  the 
statement  upon  trust  just  as  he  accepts  the  statements  made 
to  him  by  the  priest  on  matters  of  religion  at  the  Catechism 
class.  In  order  that  he  may  appreciate  the  difference,  ex- 
periment must  show  him  the  scientific  certainty  of  the  former 
statement.  All  so-called  revealed  truth  is  falsehood;  ex- 
perimental truth  alone  is  accurate  —  one,  entire,  eternal. 
Marc  therefore  at  the  outset  found  it  necessary  to  rebut  the 
Catholic  catechism  by  the  scientific  catechism.  He  took 
the  world  and  mankind  as  they  were  explained  by  science, 
and  set  them  forth  in  their  living  reality  and  their  march 
towards  a  continual  and  ever  more  and  more  perfect  future. 
There  was  no  possibility  of  real  amelioration,  liberation,  and 
happiness  otherwise  than  by  truth — that  is,  by  knowledge  of 
the  conditions  in  which  mankind  exists  and  progresses.  All 
the  craving  for  knowledge  as  a  means  for  rapid  attainment 
to  health  and  peace  bore  within  itself  its  method  of  free  ex- 
pansion, science  ceasing  to  be  a  dead  letter,  and  becoming 
a  source  of  life,  an  excitant  of  temperament  and  character. 

Marc,  as  far  as  possible,  left  books  upon  one  side,  in  order 
to  compel  his  pupils  to  judge  things  for  themselves.  They 
only  knew  things  well  when  they  had  seen  or  touched  them. 
He  never  asked  them  to  believe  in  a  phenomenon  until  he 
had  proved  its  reality  by  experiment.  The  whole  domain 
of  unproven  facts  was  set  aside,  in  reserve,  for  future  in- 
vestigation. But  he  demonstrated  that  with  the  help  of  the 
acquired  truths  mankind  might  already  rear  for  itself  a  large 
and  splendid  home  of  security  and  brotherliness.  To  see 
things  for  oneself,  to  convince  oneself  of  what  one  ought  to 
believe,  to  develop  one's  reasoning  powers  and  one's  indi- 
viduality in  accordance  with  the  reasons  of  existence  and 
action,  such  were  the  principles  which  governed  Marc's 
teaching  method,  the  only  one  by  which  true  men  might  be 
created. 

But  knowledge  was  not  sufficient — a  social  bond,  a  spirit- 
ual link  of  perpetual  solidarity  was  required.  And  this 
Marc  found  in  Justice.  He  had  often  noticed  with  what  a 
flash  of  rebellion  a  boy,  molested  in  his  rights,  would  ex- 
claim: 'That  is  n't  fair!'  Indeed,  any  act  of  injustice 
raises  a  tempest  in  the  depths  of  those  young  minds,  and 


TRUTH  173 

brings  them  frightful  suffering.  This  is  because  the  idea 
of  justice  in  them  is  absolute.  Mark  turned  to  good  use 
the  candour  of  equity,  the  innate  need  of  truth  and 
justice,  that  one  finds  in  children  when  life  has  not  yet 
inclined  them  to  mendacious  and  iniquitous  compromises. 
By  way  of  Truth  towards  Justice — such  was  the  road  along 
which  he  strove  to  direct  his  pupils,  as  often  as  possible  re- 
quiring them  to  judge  themselves  when  they  happened  to  be 
in  fault.  If  they  had  told  a  falsehood,  he  made  them  admit 
the  wrong  they  had  done  both  to  their  schoolfellows  and  to 
themselves.  If  they  were  disorderly  and  delayed  lessons, 
he  showed  them  that  they  were  the  first  to  suffer.  At  times 
a  culprit  spontaneously  admitted  his  offence,  thus  earning 
forgiveness.  Emulation  in  equity  ended  by  animating  those 
young  people ;  they  learnt  to  rival  one  another  in  frankness. 
At  times,  of  course,  there  was  trouble,  conflict,  catastrophe, 
for  all  this  was  only  a  beginning,  and  several  generations  of 
schoolboys  would  be  needed  for  schools  to  become  the  real 
abodes  of  healthy  and  happy  life.  Marc,  however,  rejoiced 
over  the  slightest  results  that  he  obtained,  convinced  as  he 
was  that  if  knowledge  were  primarily  essential  for  all  pro- 
gress, nothing  definitive  with  respect  to  the  happiness  of 
mankind  could  be  achieved  without  the  assistance  of  the 
spirit  of  justice.  Why  did  the  bourgeois  class,  which  was 
the  best  educated,  become  rotten  so  soon?  Was  it  not  by 
reason  of  its  iniquities,  its  denial  of  justice,  its  refusal  to 
restore  what  it  had  stolen,  to  give  to  the  humble  and  the 
suffering  their  legitimate  share  of  the  world's  good  things? 
Some  folk,  in  condemning  education,  cited  the  ignominious 
downfall  of  the  bourgeoisie  as  an  example,  and  accused 
science  of  producing  a  multitude  of  casteless  individuals, 
thereby  increasing  the  sum  of  evil  and  tribulation.  And 
yes,  so  long  as  the  passion  for  knowledge  merely  for  its  own 
sake  should  become  keener  and  keener  in  a  social  system 
which  was  all  falsehood  and  injustice,  it  would  only  add  to 
existing  ruins.  It  was  necessary  that  science  should  tend 
towards  justice,  and  bring  to  the  future  city  of  fraternity  a 
moral  system  of  liberty  and  peace. 

Even  to  be  just  did  not  suffice;  Marc  also  required 
kindliness  and  affection  of  his  pupils.  Nothing  could 
germinate,  nothing  could  flower,  unless  it  were  by  love 
and  for  it.  In  the  universal  flame  of  desire  and  union 
one  found  the  focus  of  the  world.  Within  each  human 
being  was  implanted  an  imperious  need  to  mingle  with 


1/4  TRUTH 

all  others;  and  personal  action,  liberty,  and  individuality 
were  like  the  play  of  different  organs,  all  dependent  on 
the  universal  Being.  If  each  individual  man,  even  when 
isolated,  represented  so  much  will  and  power,  his  actions, 
at  all  events,  only  began  to  count  when  they  exercised 
an  influence  on  the  community.  To  love,  to  make  one- 
self loved,  to  make  all  others  love:  the  teacher's  rdle 
was  found  entire  in  those  three  propositions,  those  three 
degrees  of  human  instruction.  To  love — Marc  loved  his 
pupils  with  his  whole  heart,  giving  himself  to  them  unre- 
servedly, knowing  full  well  that  one  must  indeed  love  if  one 
would  teach,  for  only  love  has  the  power  of  touching  and 
convincing.  To  make  oneself  loved — that  was  a  task  to 
which  he  devoted  every  hour,  fraternising  with  his  boys, 
never  seeking  to  make  them  fear  him,  but,  on  the  contrary, 
striving  to  win  them  over  by  persuasion,  affection,  the  good- 
fellowship  of  an  elder  brother  still  growing  up  among  his 
juniors.  To  make  all  others  love — that  again  was  his  con- 
stant thought;  he  was  ever  recalling  the  true  saying  that  the 
happiness  of  each  is  compounded  of  the  happiness  of  all; 
and  he  brought  forward  the  daily  example  of  the  progress 
and  pleasure  of  each  boy  when  the  whole  class  had  worked 
well. 

Schooling,  no  doubt,  should  have  as  its  objects  the  culture 
of  energy,  the  liberation  and  exaltation  of  each  individuality ; 
a  child  must  judge  and  act  by  himself  alone  in  order  that 
as  a  man  he  may  yield  the  sum-total  of  his  personal  value. 
But,  as  Marc  put  it,  would  not  the  crop  resulting  from  such 
intensive  culture  increase  the  common  harvest  of  all?  Could 
a  man  create  true  glory  for  himself  without  contributing  in 
one  or  another  form  to  the  happiness  of  others?  Education 
necessarily  tended  to  solidarity,  to  the  universal  attraction 
which  was  gradually  blending  mankind  into  one  family. 
And  Marc's  mind  and  heart  were  set  on  sympathy  and 
affection,  on  a  joyous,  brotherly  school,  full  of  sunshine, 
song,  and  laughter,  where  happiness  was  taught,  where  the 
pupils  learnt  to  live  the  life  of  science,  truth,  and  justice, 
which  would  come  in  all  its  fulness  when  the  way  for  it 
should  have  been  sufficiently  prepared  by  generations  of 
children  taught  as  they  ought  to  be. 

From  the  very  outset  Marc  combated  the  system  by 
which  violence,  terror,  and  folly  were  inculcated  in  so  many 
children.  The  right  of  the  stronger,  massacre,  carnage, 
the  devastation  and  razing  of  cities — all  those  things  were 


TRUTH  175 

set  before  the  young,  glorified  in  books,  pictures,  and  con- 
stant, almost  hourly,  lessons.  Great  was  the  display  of  the 
bloody  pages  of  history,  the  wars,  the  conquests,  the  names 
of  the  captains  who  had  butchered  their  fellow-beings. 
The  minds  of  children  were  enfevered  by  the  crash  of  arms, 
by  nightmares  of  slaughter  steeping  the  plains  in  blood.  In 
the  prize  books  given  to  them,  in  the  little  papers  published 
for  their  perusal,  on  the  very  covers  of  their  copy-books, 
their  eyes  encountered  the  savagery  of  armies,  the  burning 
of  fleets,  the  everlasting  calamity  of  man  sinking  to  the 
level  of  a  wolf.  And  when  a  battle  was  not  depicted  there 
came  a  miracle,  some  absurd  legend,  some  source  of  dark- 
ness: a  saint  delivering  a  country  by  his  or  her  prayers,  an 
intervention  of  Jesus  or  Mary  ensuring  the  ownership  of  the 
world  to  the  wealthy,  a  Churchman  solving  political  and 
social  difficulties  by  a  mere  sign  of  the  Cross.  The  humble 
were  invariably  warned  that  they  must  show  obedience  and 
resignation.  To  impress  it  on  their  minds  in  childhood's 
hour,  stormy  skies  were  shown  them,  illumined  by  the  light- 
ning of  an  irritated  and  cruel  Deity.  Terror  reigned,  terror 
of  that  Deity,  terror  too  of  the  devil,  a  base  and  hideous 
terror,  which  seized  on  man  in  his  infancy  and  kept  him 
cowering  until  he  reached  the  grave  after  a  life  which  was 
all  dense  night,  ignorance,  and  falsehood.  In  that  manner 
one  fashioned  only  slaves,  flesh  fit  to  serve  the  master's 
capricious  purposes.  And  indeed  that  education  of  blind 
faith  and  perpetual  extermination  was  based  on  the  necessity 
of  ever  having  soldiers  ready  to  defend  the  established  and 
iniquitous  order  of  things. 

Yet  what  an  antiquated  idea  it  was  to  cultivate  human 
energy  by  lessons  of  warfare!  It  corresponded  with  the 
times  when  the  sword  alone  decided  questions  between 
nation  and  nation,  and  between  kings  and  their  subjects. 
But  nowadays,  if  nations  still  guard  themselves — as  they  do, 
in  formidable  fashion,  full  of  anxious  dread  lest  everything 
should  collapse — who  will  dare  to  say  that  victory  will  rest 
with  the  warlike  nations?  Who,  on  the  contrary,  cannot  see 
that  the  triumphant  nation  of  to-morrow  will  be  that  which 
defeats  the  others  on  the  economic  field,  by  reorganising 
the  conditions  of  human  toil,  and  by  bringing  more  justice 
and  happiness  to  mankind? 

To  Marc  it  seemed  that  the  only  worthy  r&le  for  France 
was  that  of  completing  the  Revolution  and  becoming  the 
great  emancipator.  The  narrow  doctrine  that  one's  sole 


176  TRUTH 

purpose  should  be  to  make  soldiers  of  Frenchmen  filled  him 
with  grief  and  anger.  On  the  morrow  of  the  disasters  of 
1870  such  a  programme  may  have  had  its  excuse;  and  yet 
all  the  unrest  of  years  and  years,  the  whole  abominable 
crisis  of  the  present  times  has  proceeded  from  that  pro- 
gramme, from  having  placed  one's  supreme  hope  in  the 
army,  from  having  abandoned  the  democracy  to  military 
leaders.  If  it  be  still  necessary  to  guard  oneself,  surrounded 
as  one  is  by  neighbours  in  arms,  it  is  yet  more  necessary  to 
become  workers,  free  and  just  citizens,  such  as  those  to 
whom  to-morrow  will  belong.  On  the  day  when  France 
knows  it  and  wills  it,  on  the  day  when  she  becomes  a  nation 
freed  from  error,  the  armour-plated  empires  around  her  will 
crumble  beneath  the  breath  of  truth  and  justice  emanating 
from  her  lips — a  breath  which  will  achieve  that  which  can 
never  be  accomplished  by  all  her  armies  and  her  guns. 
Nations  awaken  nations,  and  on  the  day  when,  one  by  one, 
the  nations  rise,  enlightened,  instructed  by  example,  the 
world  will  witness  the  victory  of  peace,  the  end  of  war. 
Marc  could  imagine  for  his  country  no  more  splendid  rfile 
than  that  of  hastening  the  day  when  all  countries  would 
mingle  in  one.  Thus  he  kept  a  strict  watch  over  his  pupils' 
books,  replacing  as  far  as  possible  all  pictures  and  descrip- 
tions of  spurious  miracles  and  bloody  battles  by  others  which 
dealt  with  the  truths  of  science  and  the  fruitful  labours  of 
mankind.  The  one  true  source  of  energy  lies  in  work  for 
happiness'  sake. 

In  the  course  of  the  second  year  some  good  results  were 
already  manifest.  Dividing  his  school  into  two  classes, 
Marc  took  charge  of  the  first,  composed  of  boys  from  nine 
to  thirteen  years  of  age,  while  Mignot  attended  to  the 
second,  in  which  the  lads  were  from  six  to  nine  years  old. 
The  young  principal  also  adopted  the  system  of  appointing 
monitors,  whence  he  derived  certain  advantages,  a  saving 
of  time  in  some  matters,  and  an  increase  of  emulation  among 
his  boys.  Not  a  moment  was  lost  during  school  hours,  yet 
he  allowed  the  lads  as  much  independence  as  possible, 
chatting  with  them,  provoking  objections  from  them,  and 
imposing  nothing  on  them  by  dint  of  authority,  desirous  as 
he  was  that  all  feeling  of  certainty  should  come  from  their 
own  minds.  Thus  gaiety  prevailed,  and  the  lessons  in  which 
those  young  minds  passed  from  discovery  to  discovery  were 
full  of  attractiveness. 

On  one  matter  only  did  Marc  insist,  and  that  was  great 


TRUTH  177 

cleanliness.  Under  his  guidance  the  lads  took  pleasure  in 
washing  their  hands  at  the  water  taps,  and  the  class-room 
windows  were  opened  widely  at  each  interval  between  les- 
sons, as  well  as  afterwards.  Before  Marc's  time  it  had  been 
the  practice  (a  usual  one  in  French  elementary  schools)  for 
the  boys  to  sweep  the  schoolroom  floor,  whereby  they  raised 
a  terrible  amount  of  dust, — a  redoubtable  means  of  spread- 
ing contagion, — but  he  taught  them  to  wash  the  floor  with 
sponges,  a  duty  which  they  soon  regarded  as  a  pastime. 

One  sunshiny  day  in  May,  two  years  after  Marc's  appoint- 
ment to  Maillebois,  Inspector  Mauraisin  paid  the  school  a 
surprise  visit  during  the  interval  between  morning  lessons. 
It  was  in  vain  that  he  had  hitherto  kept  a  watch  on  Marc. 
He  was  disconcerted  by  the  young  man's  prudence,  infuri- 
ated by  his  inability  to  send  in  a  bad  report  such  as  would 
have  justified  removal.  That  clumsy  revolutionary  dreamer, 
whom  nobody  had  expected  to  see  six  months  in  office,  was 
becoming  a  perfect  fixture,  to  the  amazement  and  scandal 
of  all  right-thinking  people.  By  devising  that  surprise  visit, 
however,  the  Inspector  hoped  to  catch  him  in  fault. 

As  it  happened,  the  boys  had  just  been  washing  the 
class-room  floor,  and  handsome  little  Mauraisin,  sprucely 
buttoned  up  in  his  frock  coat,  raised  a  cry  of  alarm: 
'  What!  are  you  flooded? ' 

When  Marc  explained  that  he  had  replaced  sweeping  by 
washing,  for  reasons  of  hygiene,  the  Inspector  shrugged  his 
shoulders:  'Another  novelty!'  said  he.  'You  might  at 
least  have  warned  the  Administration.  Besides,  all  this 
water  cannot  be  healthy,  it  must  tend  to  rheumatism.  You 
will  please  content  yourself  with  the  broom  so  long  as  you 
are  not  authorised  to  use  sponges.' 

Then,  as  the  interval  between  lessons  was  not  quite  over, 
he  began  to  rummage  everywhere,  even  opening  the  cup- 
boards to  see  if  their  contents  were  in  order.  Perhaps  he 
hoped  to  find  some  bad  books,  some  Anarchist  pamphlets. 
At  all  events  he  criticised  everything,  laid  stress  on  the 
slightest  sign  of  negligence,  passing  censure  in  a  loud  voice, 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  boys,  by  way  of  humiliating  Marc 
in  their  presence.  At  last,  the  boys  having  resumed  their 
seats,  the  usual  questioning  began. 

Mauraisin's  first  attack  fell  upon  Mignot  because  little 
Charles  Doloir,  eight  years  of  age,  and  therefore  in  the 
second  class,  was  unable  to  answer  a  question  on  a  subject 
which  he  had  not  yet  studied. 


178  TRUTH 

'  So  you  are  behindhand  with  the  programme ! '  said  the 
Inspector.  '  Why,  your  pupils  ought  to  have  reached  that 
lesson  two  months  ago.' 

Mignot,  who,  though  he  stood  there  in  a  respectful  atti- 
tude, was  plainly  irritated  by  the  other's  aggressive  tone, 
turned  towards  his  principal.  It  was  indeed  at  the  latter 
that  Mauraisin  had  really  aimed  his  remark.  And  so  the 
young  head-master  replied:  'Excuse  me,  Monsieur  1'In- 
specteur,  it  was  I  who  thought  it  right  to  intervert  certain 
parts  of  the  programme  in  order  to  make  some  of  the  les- 
sons clearer.  Besides,  is  it  not  better  to  attend  less  to  the 
exact  order  of  the  lessons  as  given  in  the  books  than  to  their 
spirit,  in  such  wise,  however,  that  all  may  be  taught  to  the 
boys  in  the  course  of  the  year? ' 

Mauraisin  affected  great  indignation:  'What!  you  inter- 
fere with  the  programme,  monsieur?  You,  yourself,  decide 
what  to  take  of  it  and  what  to  leave  out?  You  substitute 
your  fancy  for  the  wisdom  of  your  superiors?  Well,  they 
shall  know  that  this  class  is  behindhand.' 

Then,  his  glance  falling  on  the  elder  Doloir,  Auguste, 
who  was  ten  years  old,  he  told  him  to  stand  up,  and  began 
to  question  him  about  the  Reign  of  Terror,  asking  him 
to  name  the  leaders  of  the  period,  Robespierre,  Danton, 
Marat. 

'  Was  Marat  handsome,  my  boy? '  he  inquired. 

Now  Auguste  Doloir,  though  Marc  had  succeeded  in  ob- 
taining a  little  better  behaviour  from  him,  was  still  the  rebel 
and  trickster  of  the  school.  Either  from  ignorance  or 
roguishness,  it  was  hard  to  say,  he  now  made  answer:  'Oh! 
very  handsome,  monsieur.' 

His  schoolfellows,  vastly  amused,  laughed  and  wriggled 
on  their  seats. 

'No,  no,  my  boy!'  exclaimed  Mauraisin,  'Marat  was 
hideous,  with  every  vice  and  every  crime  stamped  upon  his 
countenance ! '  And,  turning  towards  Marc,  he  added 
clumsily  enough:  'You  do  not  teach  them  that  Marat  was 
handsome,  I  imagine!  ' 

'  No,  Monsieur  1'Inspecteur,'  the  master  answered  with  a 
smile. 

Laughter  arose  once  more,  and  Mignot  had  to  step 
between  the  desks  to  restore  order,  while  Mauraisin, 
clinging  to  the  subject  of  Marat,  began  to  refer  to  Char- 
lotte Corday.  As  luck  would  have  it,  he  addressed  him- 
self to  Fernand  Bongard,  now  a  tall  boy  of  eleven,  whom 


TRUTH  179 

he  probably  imagined  to  be  one  of  the  most  advanced 
pupils. 

'  Here !  you  big  fellow  yonder,  can  you  tell  me  how  Marat 
died? ' 

He  could  not  have  been  more  unlucky.  It  was  only  with 
the  greatest  difficulty  that  Marc  taught  Fernand  anything. 
The  lad  was  not  merely  thick-headed,  he  did  not  try  to 
learn,  and  as  for  the  names  and  dates  of  history  he  was  on 
the  worst  possible  terms  with  them.  He  rose  with  a  scared 
expression  in  his  dilated  eyes. 

'Come,  compose  yourself,  my  boy,'  said  Mauraisin.  '  Did 
not  Marat  die  under  peculiar  circumstances? ' 

Fernand  remained  silent,  with  his  mouth  wide  open.  But 
a  compassionate  schoolfellow  behind  him  whispered :  '  In  a 
bath  ' ;  whereupon  in  a  very  loud  voice  he  answered :  '  Marat 
drowned  himself  while  taking  a  bath.' 

This  time  the  laughter  became  delirium,  and  Mauraisin 
flew  into  a  temper:  '  These  boys  are  really  stupid! '  he  ex- 
claimed. '  Marat  was  killed  in  his  bath  by  Charlotte  Cor- 
day,  a  young  girl  of  high-strung  nature,  who  sacrificed 
herself  in  order  to  save  France  from  a  monster  thirsting  for 
blood.  .  .  .  Are  you  taught  nothing,  then,  as  you  can- 
not answer  the  simplest  questions? ' 

However,  he  interrogated  the  twin  brothers  Savin, 
Achille  and  Philippe,  respecting  the  religious  wars,  and 
obtained  fairly  satisfactory  answers  from  them.  They  were 
scarcely  popular  in  the  school,  for  not  only  were  they  sly 
and  addicted  to  falsehoods,  but  they  denounced  those  of 
their  schoolfellows  whom  they  saw  in  fault,  besides  telling 
their  father  of  everything  that  occurred.  Nevertheless  the 
Inspector,  won  over  by  their  hypocritical  ways,  cited  them 
as  examples:  'These  boys  know  at  least  something,'  said 
he.  And  again  addressing  himself  to  Philippe  he  inquired: 
'  Now,  can  you  tell  me  what  one  ought  to  do  to  follow  one's 
religion  properly? ' 

'  One  ought  to  go  to  Mass,  monsieur. ' 

4  No  doubt,  but  that  is  not  sufficient;  one  ought  to  do 
everything  that  religion  teaches.  You  hear,  my  boy — 
everything  that  religion  teaches.' 

Marc  looked  at  Mauraisin  in  stupefaction,  still  he  did 
not  intervene,  for  he  guessed  that  the  Inspector  in  putting 
that  singular  question  had  been  prompted  by  a  desire  to 
make  him  compromise  himself  by  some  imprudent  re- 
mark. Indeed,  that  was  so  fully  the  other's  object  that  he 


TRUTH 

continued  aggressively,  addressing  himself  this  time  to  Se'bas- 
tien  Milhomme :  '  You,  the  little  boy  yonder  with  the  fair 
hair,  tell  me  what  religion  teaches?  ' 

S^bastien,  who  stood  erect,  with  an  expression  of  con- 
sternation on  his  face,  made  no  answer.  He  was  the  best 
pupil  of  the  class,  with  a  quick,  intelligent  mind,  and  an 
affectionate  and  gentle  disposition.  His  inability  to  answer 
the  Inspector  brought  tears  to  his  eyes.  As  he  received  no 
lessons  in  religion,  he  did  not  even  understand  what  he  was 
asked. 

'  Well,  you  need  not  look  at  me  like  that,  you  little 
stupid ! '  exclaimed  Mauraisin ;  '  my  question  is  clear 
enough.' 

But  Marc  was  unable  to  restrain  himself  any  longer. 
The  embarrassment  of  his  best  pupil,  to  whom  he  was 
growing  extremely  attached,  proved  unbearable  to  him.  So 
he  came  to  his  help:  'Excuse  me,  Monsieur  1'Inspecteur, 
the  teachings  of  religion  are  contained  in  the  Church  Cate- 
chism, and  the  Catechism  is  not  included  in  our  programme. 
So  how  can  the  lad  answer  you? ' 

This  answer,  no  doubt,  was  what  Mauraisin  had  ex- 
pected. '  I  have  no  lessons  to  receive  from  you,  Monsieur 
le  Maitre, '  he  responded,  feigning  anger  once  more,  '  I 
know  what  I  am  about.  There  is  no  properly  conducted 
school  in  which  a  child  cannot  give  a  general  answer  to  a 
question  about  the  religion  of  his  country.' 

'I  repeat,  Monsieur  1'Inspecteur,'  rejoined  Marc  in  a 
firm  voice,  in  which  a  little  rising  anger  became  apparent, 
'  I  repeat  that  it  is  not  for  me  to  teach  the  Catechism.  You 
are  mistaken,  you  are  not  at  the  school  of  the  Brothers  of 
the  Christian  Doctrine,  who  make  the  Catechism  the  basis 
of  all  their  teaching.  You  are  in  a  secular  Republican 
school,  expressly  set  apart  from  all  the  churches  —  one 
where  the  teaching  is  based  solely  on  reason  and  science. 
If  it  be  necessary,  I  shall  appeal  on  the  subject  to  my 
superiors.' 

Mauraisin  understood  that  he  had  gone  too  far.  Each 
time  that  he  had  endeavoured  to  shake  Marc's  position  he 
had  found  his  superior,  Academy  Inspector  Le  Barazer, 
tacitly,  passively  supporting  the  young  man,  refusing  to 
take  any  action  against  him  unless  grave  and  well-proven 
charges  were  brought  forward.  Moreover,  Mauraisin  knew 
Le  Barazer' s  opinions  respecting  the  absolute  neutrality  of 
the  schools  in  religious  matters.  And  so,  without  insisting 


TRUTH  l8l 

on  the  subject,  he  curtailed  his  inspection,  soon  bringing  it 
to  an  end,  though  not  without  again  indulging  in  criticisms, 
for  he  was  determined  to  find  nothing  satisfactory.  The 
boys  themselves  deemed  him  ridiculous,  and  covertly  made 
merry  over  the  bad  temper  of  that  vain  little  fop  whose  hair 
and  beard  were  so  sprucely  kept.  When  he  withdrew, 
Mignot  went  so  far  as  to  shrug  his  shoulders,  and  whisper 
to  Marc :  '  We  shall  have  a  bad  report,  but  you  were  quite 
right.  That  man  is  becoming  altogether  too  stupid.' 

For  some  time  now,  Mignot,  gained  upon  by  Marc's  firm 
yet  gentle  behaviour,  had  been  coming  over  to  his  side.  It 
was  not  that  he  as  yet  shared  his  opinions  in  all  things,  for 
he  was  still  anxious  respecting  his  own  advancement;  but 
he  had  a  sound  mind  at  bottom,  and  was  gradually  yielding 
to  the  other's  good  guidance. 

'Oh!  a  bad  report!  '  Marc  repeated  gaily;  '  he  won't  dare 
to  venture  beyond  hypocritical  and  venomous  attacks. 
.  Ah!  do  you  see  him  going  into  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire's?  He  's  with  his  divinity  now.  The  worst  is 
that  his  behaviour  is  not  dictated  by  principle,  but  merely 
by  personal  policy,  a  desire  to  make  his  way  in  the  world.' 

At  each  inspection  Mauraisin  lavished  very  favourable 
reports  upon  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire.  She,  at  all  events, 
took  her  girls  to  church,  compelled  them  to  recite  the  Cate- 
chism in  school  hours,  and  allowed  the  Inspector  to  question 
them  about  religion  as  much  as  he  desired.  One  of  her 
pupils,  little  Hortense  Savin,  who  was  being  prepared  for 
her  first  Communion,  quite  astonished  Mauraisin  by  her 
extensive  knowledge  of  Bible  history.  And  if  Angele  Bon- 
gard,  thick-skulled  like  her  brother,  showed  less  proficiency 
in  spite  of  her  painfully  stubborn  efforts  to  learn,  on  the 
other  hand  Lucile  Doloir,  a  little  lass  six  years  of  age,  who 
had  joined  the  school  only  recently,  gave  promise  of  great 
intelligence,  and  would  make,  later  on,  a  very  charming 
'  Handmaiden  of  the  Virgin.' 

When  morning  lessons  were  over,  Marc  again  caught 
sight  of  Mauraisin,  whom  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  was  es- 
corting to  the  threshold  of  her  school.  They  lingered  there 
together,  chatting  in  an  intimate  way  and  making  gestures 
suggestive  of  great  distress  of  mind.  They  were  undoubt- 
edly deploring  what  went  on  in  the  neighbouring  boys' 
school,  which  was  still  in  the  hands  of  the  disgraceful  master 
of  whom,  for  two  years,  they  had  been  vainly  trying  to  rid 
the  town. 


1 82  TRUTH 

After  long  expecting  the  sudden  removal  of  Marc,  Maille- 
bois  was  now  growing  accustomed  to  his  presence.  At  a 
sitting  of  the  Municipal  Council,  Mayor  Darras  had  even 
found  an  opportunity  to  praise  him;  and  his  position  had 
been  strengthened  recently  by  an  incident  of  considerable 
significance:  the  return  of  two  boys  who  had  been  pre- 
viously transferred  to  the  Brothers'  school.  This  indicated 
that  parents  felt  tranquillised,  and  were  disposed  to  accept 
the  young  man,  and  it  was  also  a  check  for  the  Congrega- 
tional school,  hitherto  so  prosperous  and  victorious.  Was 
Marc  about  to  succeed,  then,  in  restoring  the  secular  school 
to  honour,  by  dint  of  wisdom  and  affection,  as  he  had  said 
to  Salvan?  Anxiety  must  have  arisen  among  the  Ignoran- 
tines  and  the  monks,  the  whole  clerical  faction,  for  the 
young  man  suddenly  found  himself  attacked  in  so  singular 
a  fashion  that  he  was  quite  surprised.  Mauraisin,  on  call- 
ing upon  the  Mayor  and  others,  had  left  the  Catechism 
question  on  one  side,  speaking  only  of  Marc's  new  system 
of  washing  the  schoolroom  floor,  and  in  this  connection 
affecting  much  alarm  for  the  children's  health.  A  great 
controversy  arose:  ought  the  floor  to  be  washed  or  ought  it 
to  be  swept?  Before  long  Maillebois  was  divided  into  two 
camps,  which  became  quite  impassioned  and  hurled  all  sorts 
of  arguments  at  one  another.  The  children's  parents  were 
consulted,  and  Savin,  the  clerk,  denounced  the  washing 
system  so  bitterly  that  for  a  moment  it  was  thought  he  would 
remove  his  twin  boys  from  the  school.  But  Marc  carried 
the  question  to  a  higher  court,  soliciting  the  opinion  of  his 
superiors,  and  requesting  them  to  appoint  a  commission  of 
medical  men  and  hygienists.  Then  came  a  serious  investi- 
gation, and  victory  rested  with  the  washing  system.  For 
the  master  this  was  quite  a  triumph;  the  children's  parents 
became  more  and  more  disposed  to  support  him;  even 
Savin,  with  whom  it  was  so  difficult  to  deal,  had  to  retract, 
and  another  boy  came  back  from  the  Brothers'  school, 
which,  people  began  to  say,  was  horribly  dirty. 

But,  in  spite  of  this  dawning  sympathy,  Marc  harboured 
no  illusions.  He  felt  that  years  would  be  necessary  to  free 
the  region  from  the  poison  of  Clericalism.  Gaining  a  little 
more  ground  every  now  and  then,  he  practised  the  greatest 
prudence,  well  pleased  with  the  result,  however  slight  it 
might  be.  At  the  instance  of  Genevieve,  he  had  carried 
his  desire  for  peace  so  far  as  to  renew  his  intercourse  with 
her  relations.  This,  as  it  happened,  took  place  in  connec- 


TRUTH  183 

tion  with  the  famous  washing  controversy,  in  which,  con- 
trary to  custom,  the  ladies  shared  his  views.  So  now,  from 
time  to  time,  accompanying  his  wife  and  daughter,  he  again 
visited  the  little  house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins.  The  two 
old  ladies  remained  ceremonious  and  carefully  avoided  all 
dangerous  subjects  of  conversation.  Thus  there  was  no 
pleasant  intimacy.  Nevertheless  the  reconciliation  de- 
lighted Genevieve,  for  it  freed  her  from  the  embarrassment 
she  had  felt  when  calling  alone  on  her  grandmother  and 
mother.  At  present  she  saw  them  almost  daily,  and  some- 
times left  Louise  with  them,  coming  and  going  from  one 
house  to  the  other,  Marc  evincing  no  anxiety,  but  feeling, 
indeed,  well  pleased  with  the  gaiety  displayed  by  his  wife, 
on  whom  the  ladies  again  lavished  caresses,  services,  and 
little  presents. 

One  Sunday,  on  going  to  lunch  with  a  friend  at  Jonville, 
Marc — by  the  force  of  contrast — suddenly  realised  how 
much  ground  he  had  already  gained  at  Maillebois.  He  had 
never  previously  understood  how  decisive  a  schoolmaster's 
influence  might  prove.  Whilst  Maillebois  was  slowly  revert- 
ing to  justice,  health,  and  prosperity,  he  found  Jonville  re- 
lapsing into  darkness,  poverty,  and  stagnation.  It  grieved 
him  to  find  that  little  or  nothing  remained  of  the  good  work 
he  had  done  there  in  former  years.  And  this  was  due 
solely  to  the  deplorable  action  of  the  new  schoolmaster, 
Jauffre,  who  cared  for  nothing  save  his  own  personal  suc- 
cess. Short,  dark,  quick  and  cunning,  with  narrow  prying 
eyes,  Jauffre  owed  his  success  in  life  to  the  priest  of  his 
native  village,  who  had  taken  him  from  his  father,  a  black- 
smith, to  teach  him  his  first  lessons.  Later  on  another 
priest  had  enriched  him  by  negotiating  his  marriage  with  a 
butcher's  daughter,  who  was  short  and  dark  like  himself, 
and  who  brought  him  as  dowry  an  income  of  two  thousand 
francs  a  year.  Jauffre  was  convinced,  therefore,  that  if  he 
desired  to  become  a  personage  he  ought  to  remain  on  the 
side  of  the  priests,  who  some  day  doubtless  would  provide 
him  with  a  splendid  position.  The  income  he  owed  to  his 
wife  already  rendered  him  respectable,  and  his  superiors 
treated  him  with  consideration,  for  a  man  who  was  not  de- 
pendent on  the  administration  for  his  living  could  hardly  be 
hustled  about  as  if  he  were  a  mere  starveling  like  F^rou. 
In  the  school  world,  as  elsewhere,  favours  go  to  the  rich, 
never  to  the  poor. 

Besides,    exaggerated    reports    were    spread    respecting 


1 84  TRUTH 

Jauffre's  fortune,  in  such  wise  that  all  the  peasants  took  off 
their  hats  to  him,  he  completing  his  conquest  of  them  by 
his  greed  for  gain,  his  wonderful  skill  in  extracting  as  much 
profit  as  possible  from  everybody  and  everything.  He  was 
not  troubled  with  any  sincere  belief;  if  he  were  a  Republi- 
can, a  good  patriot,  and  a  good  Catholic,  it  was  only  so  far 
as  his  interests  required.  Thus,  although  he  called  upon 
Abb£  Cognasse  as  soon  as  he  was  appointed  to  Jonville,  he 
did  not  immediately  hand  the  school  over  to  him,  for  he 
detected  the  anti-clerical  spirit  then  prevalent  in  the  village. 
But  he  gradually  allowed  the  priest  to  become  all-powerful 
by  intentional  relinquishment  of  his  own  privileges,  and  by 
covert  resistance  to  the  express  desires  of  the  Mayor  and  the 
parish  council.  Mayor  Martineau,  so  strong  and  firm  when 
he  had  leant  on  Marc,  became  quite  lost  oYi  having  to  con- 
tend single-handed  against  the  new  schoolmaster,  who  soon 
became  the  real  ruler  of  the  parish,  and  ended  by  relinquish- 
ing his  authority  to  Abb£  Cognasse  in  such  wise  that,  at  the 
expiration  of  six  months,  Jonville  was  in  the  priest's  hands. 
Jauffre's  line  of  conduct  interested  Marc  particularly,  be- 
cause it  was  a  masterpiece  of  Jesuitry.  He  obtained  precise 
information  about  it  from  the  schoolmistress,  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline,  on  whom  he  called.  She  was  sincerely  grieved 
at  being  unable  to  effect  anything  useful  now  that  she  re- 
mained alone  in  a  parish  where  all  was  rotting.  She  told 
Marc  of  the  comedy  played  by  Jauffre  in  the  earlier  days 
when  Mayor  Martineau  complained  of  one  or  another  en- 
croachment on  the  part  of  the  priest,  which  the  schoolmaster 
himself  had  stealthily  provoked.  The  latter  pretended  to 
be  as  indignant  as  the  Mayor,  and  accused  his  wife,  Madame 
Jauffre,  who  was  very  devout,  of  assisting  Abbe  Cognasse. 
As  it  happened,  the  husband  and  the  wife  were  in  full  agree- 
ment, and  had  devised  this  plan  in  order  to  escape  re- 
sponsibility. And  so  Martineau  was  speedily  vanquished, 
particularly  as  his  coquettish  wife  became  the  great  friend 
of  Madame  Jauffre,  who,  on  the  strength  of  her  dower, 
affected  the  manners  of  a  born  lady.  Before  long  Jauffre 
began  to  ring  the  bell  for  Mass,  a  duty  which  Marc  had 
always  refused  to  discharge.  It  brought  in  only  thirty 
francs  a  year,  but  then,  in  Jauffre's  opinion,  thirty  francs 
were  not  to  be  sneezed  at.  At  Marc's  instigation  the 
money  had  been  devoted  for  a  time  to  the  repair  of  the  old 
church  clock,  and  now  the  latter,  being  neglected  as  in 
former  days,  got  out  of  order  once  more,  in  such  wise  that 


TRUTH  185 

the  peasants  never  again  knew  the  correct  time,  for  the 
clock  went  by  fits  and  starts,  being  one  day  too  fast  and 
another  too  slow.  As  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  remarked, 
with  a  sad  smile,  that  clock  was  the  image  of  the  parish, 
where  nothing  was  now  done  in  accordance  with  sense  and 
logic. 

The  worst  was  that  Abb£  Cognasse's  triumph  extended  to 
Le  Moreux,  whose  Mayor,  Saleur,  the  ex-grazier,  impressed 
by  the  turn  which  things  were  taking  at  Jonville,  and  fear- 
ing for  the  fat  life  which  he  led,  thanks  to  his  new  wealth, 
went  back  to  the  Church,  however  little  he  might  really  like 
the  priests.  And  it  was  on  that  wretched  rebel  school- 
master, F£rou,  that  the  effects  of  the  reconciliation  fell. 
Whenever  Abb£  Cognasse  now  came  to  Le  Moreux,  he  dis- 
played a  most  insolent  sense  of  victory,  and  inflicted  on  the 
schoolmaster  all  sorts  of  humiliations,  with  which  the  other 
had  to  put  up,  abandoned  as  he  was  by  the  Mayor  and  the 
parish  council.  Never  did  a  poor  man  lead  a  more  rageful 
life.  Possessed  of  a  broad,  quick  mind,  but  condemned  to 
live  among  so  much  ignorance  and  malice,  Ferou  was  im- 
pelled to  the  most  extreme  views  by  his  ever-increasing 
misery.  His  wife,  worn  out  by  hard  toil,  and  his  three 
poor,  pale,  and  puny  daughters  were  starving.  Yet,  al- 
though indebtedness  was  consuming  his  last  resources,  he 
did  not  submit.  Looking  more  of  a  scarecrow  than  ever  in 
his  old  whitening  frock  coat,  he  evinced  greater  and  greater 
bitterness,  not  only  refusing  to  take  his  pupils  to  Mass,  but 
even  growling  insults  when  the  priest  went  by  on  Sundays. 
A  catastrophe  was  imminent,  dismissal  was  inevitable,  and, 
to  make  matters  worse,  as  the  unlucky  man  had  served  only 
eight  of  his  ten  years  as  a  teacher,1  he  would  be  seized  by 
the  military  authorities  immediately  after  his  dismissal. 
What  would  become  of  the  mournful  wife  and  little  girls, 
when  the  husband,  the  father,  should  be  lodged  in  some 
barracks? 

On  leaving  Jonville  that  day,  Marc  and  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline,  who  accompanied  him  as  far  as  the  railway 
station,  passed  the  church  at  the  moment  when  vespers 
were  ending.  Palmyre,  Abb6  Cognasse's  terrible  old  serv- 
ant, stood  on  the  threshold,  taking  stock  of  those  who 
showed  themselves  good  Christians.  Jauffre  came  out,  and 
two  of  his  pupils  saluted  him  in  military  fashion,  a  mark  of 

1  See  page  137,  ante. 


1 86  TRUTH 

deference  which  he  exacted,  and  which  flattered  his  patriotic 
feelings.  Then  appeared  Madame  Jauffre  and  Madame 
Martineau,  Martineau  himself,  and  a  stream  of  peasants  of 
both  sexes.  Marc  hastened  his  steps  in  order  to  avoid 
recognition  and  an  impulse  to  express  his  grief  aloud.  He 
was  struck  by  the  fact  that  Jonville  was  less  well  kept  than 
formerly;  signs  of  abandonment,  of  a  diminution  of  pro- 
sperity were  already  apparent.  But  then  was  not  that  the 
law?  Did  not  intellectual  poverty  engender  material  pov- 
erty? Filth  and  vermin  have  invaded  every  country  where 
Roman  Catholicism  has  triumphed.  Wherever  it  has  passed 
it  has  proved  a  blast  of  death,  striking  the  soil  with  sterility, 
casting  men  into  idleness  and  imbecility,  for  it  is  the  very 
negation  of  life,  and  it  kills  nations  like  a  slow  but  deadly 
poison. 

Marc  felt  relieved  when,  on  the  morrow,  he  once  more 
found  himself  in  his  school  at  Maillebois  among  the  children 
whose  minds  and  hearts  he  was  striving  to  awaken.  Doubt- 
less his  work  progressed  very  slowly,  but  the  result  achieved 
lent  him  the  strength  to  persevere.  Unfortunately,  the 
parents  of  his  boys  gave  him  no  help.  His  advance  would 
have  been  more  rapid  if  the  lads  had  found  in  their  homes 
some  continuance  of  the  principles  inculcated  during  their 
school  hours.  But  the  contrary  happened  at  times.  In 
Achille  and  Philippe  Savin,  Marc  detected  the  sullen, 
jealous  bitterness  of  their  father,  and  he  could  only  en- 
deavour to  check  their  propensity  for  falsehood,  slyness, 
and  tale-bearing.  Again,  though  the  Doloirs  were  intelli- 
gent enough  if  they  had  only  been  minded  to  learn,  they 
showed  little  real  improvement.  Auguste  was  very  inatten- 
tive and  quarrelsome,  and  Charles  followed  in  his  elder 
brother's  footsteps.  With  Fernand  Bongard  the  difficulty 
was  different;  he  was  exceptionally  obtuse,  and  it  was  only 
with  an  incredible  amount  of  trouble  that  one  could  make 
him  understand  and  remember  the  slightest  thing.  Yet 
there  was  some  improvement  among  the  boys  in  their  en- 
semble since  Marc  had  brought  them  under  a  regimen  of 
reason  and  truth. 

Besides,  the  young  man  did  not  hope  to  change  the  world 
with  one  generation  of  schoolboys.  The  elementary  master's 
task  requires  the  greatest  patience  and  abnegation;  and 
Marc's  one  desire  was  to  furnish  an  example  by  giving  his 
whole  life  to  the  obscure  work  of  preparing  the  future.  If 
others  would  only  perform  their  duty  one  might  hope  that 


TRUTH  187 

in  three  or  four  generations  a  new  liberating  France  might 
be  created,  such  as  might  emancipate  the  world.  And  the 
young  man  was  ambitious  of  no  immediate  reward,  no  per- 
sonal success,  though  to  his  great  delight  he  did  receive  a 
recompense  for  his  efforts  in  the  satisfaction  which  one  of 
his  pupils,  little  Se'bastien  Milhomme,  gave  him.  That 
gentle  and  remarkably  intelligent  lad  had  become  passion- 
ately attached  to  truth.  Not  only  was  he  the  first  of  his 
class,  but  he  also  displayed  much  sincerity  and  uprightness, 
at  once  boyishly  and  charmingly  uncompromising  in  char- 
acter. His  schoolfellows  often  chose  him  as  umpire  in  a 
difficulty,  and  when  he  had  pronounced  judgment  he  would 
not  admit  that  any  should  free  themselves  from  the  effects 
of  his  decision.  Marc  always  felt  happy  when  he  saw 
Se'bastien  at  his  desk,  with  his  long  and  somewhat  pensive 
face  crowned  by  fair  and  curly  hair,  and  lighted  by  fine 
blue  eyes,  which,  fixed  on  the  master  with  an  ardent  desire 
to  learn,  drank  in  every  lesson.  And  it  was  not  only  Se"bas- 
tien's  rapid  progress  which  won  Marc's  heart;  he  was  still 
fonder  of  the  boy  on  account  of  all  the  good  and  generous 
qualities  which  he  divined  in  him.  Indeed,  S^bastien's  was 
an  exquisite  little  nature  which  Marc  took  pleasure  in 
wakening,  one  of  those  child-natures  in  which  all  the 
florescence  of  noble  thoughts  and  noble  deeds  was  begin- 
ning to  bud. 

A  painful  scene  occurred  one  day  towards  the  close  of  the 
afternoon  lessons.  Fernand  Bongard,  whom  others  were 
fond  of  teasing  on  account  of  his  dense  stupidity,  had  dis- 
covered that  the  peak  of  his  cap  had  been  torn  off.  Forth- 
with he  had  burst  into  tears,  declaring  that  his  mother 
would  surely  beat  him.  Marc  wished  to  discover  the  author 
of  this  malicious  act,  but  all  the  boys  laughingly  denied 
their  guilt,  Auguste  Doloir  more  impudently  even  than  the 
others,  though  there  was  reason  to  suspect  that  the  misdeed 
was  his  work.  And,  indeed,  as  it  was  proposed  to  keep  the 
whole  school  in  after  lessons,  until  the  culprit  should  con- 
fess, Achille  Savin  betrayed  Auguste  by  pulling  the  peak  of 
Fernand's  cap  out  of  his  pocket.  This  gave  Marc  an  op- 
portunity to  denounce  falsehood,  and  he  did  so  with  so 
much  warmth  that  the  culprit  himself  shed  tears  and  asked 
forgiveness.  But  Se'bastien  Milhomme's  emotion  was  ex- 
traordinary, and  when  the  others  departed  he  lingered  in 
the  empty  schoolroom,  looking  at  his  master  with  a  desperate 
expression  in  his  eyes. 


1 88  TRUTH 

'  Have  you  something  to  say  to  me,  my  boy? '  Marc  asked 
him. 

'Yes,  monsieur,'  S^bastien  replied.  Yet  he  became 
silent,  his  lips  trembling,  and  his  handsome  face  flushing 
with  confusion. 

'  Is  it  very  difficult  to  say,  then? '  Marc  inquired. 

'  Yes,  monsieur,  it  's  a  falsehood  which  I  told  you,  and 
which  makes  me  feel  very  unhappy.' 

The  young  master  smiled,  anticipating  some  peccadillo, 
some  childishly  exaggerated  scruple  of  conscience.  '  Well, 
tell  me  the  truth,'  he  said,  '  it  will  relieve  you.' 

Another  pause  of  some  length  followed.  Signs  of  a  fresh 
mental  battle  became  apparent  in  Sebastien's  limpid  blue 
eyes  and  even  on  his  pure  lips.  But  at  last  the  boy  made 
up  his  mind  and  said:  '  Well,  monsieur,  I  told  you  a  false- 
hood a  long  time  ago,  when  I  was  quite  little  and  ignorant 
— I  told  you  a  falsehood  by  saying  what  was  not  true,  that 
I  had  never  seen  my  cousin  Victor  with  that  writing  copy 
— you  remember,  monsieur — the  copy  which  people  talked 
about  so  much.  He  had  given  it  to  me  as  he  did  not  want 
to  keep  it  himself,  for  he  felt  anxious  about  it  as  he  had 
taken  it  from  the  Brothers'.  And  on  that  very  day  when  I 
told  you  I  did  not  remember  anything  about  it,  I  had  hidden 
it  in  a  copybook  of  my  own.' 

Marc  listened,  thunderstruck.  Once  more  the  whole  Si- 
mon case  seemed  to  arise  before  him,  emerging  from  its  appa- 
rent slumber.  But  he  did  not  wish  the  lad  to  see  how  deeply 
he  was  stirred  by  the  unexpected  shock,  and  so  he  asked 
him:  'Are  you  sure  that  you  are  not  again  mistaken  ?  Did 
the  copy  bear  the  words  '  'Aimez  vous  les  uns  les  autres  "  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  monsieur.' 

'  And  there  was  a  paraph  down  below?  I  have  taught 
you  what  a  paraph  is,  have  I  not?  ' 

'  Yes,  monsieur. ' 

For  a  moment  Marc  relapsed  into  silence.  His  heart 
was  beating  violently,  he  feared  lest  the  cry  which  was  rising 
to  his  lips  might  escape  him.  Then,  wishing  to  make  quite 
sure,  he  continued:  '  But  why  did  you  keep  silent  till  now, 
my  lad?  And  what  induced  you  to  tell  me  the  truth  this 
evening? ' 

Sebastien,  already  relieved,  looked  his  master  straight  in 
the  face  with  an  expression  of  charming  candour.  His 
delicate  smile  returned,  and  he  explained  the  wakening  of 
his  conscience  in  the  simplest  way. 


TRUTH  189 

'  Oh !  if  I  did  not  tell  you  the  truth  sooner,  monsieur,  it 
was  because  I  felt  no  need  of  doing  so.  I  no  longer  re- 
membered that  I  had  told  you  a  falsehood,  it  was  so  long 
ago.  But  one  day,  here,  you  explained  to  us  how  wrong  it 
was  to  tell  falsehoods,  and  then  I  remembered  it,  and  began 
to  feel  worried.  Afterwards,  every  time  you  spoke  of  the 
happiness  one  found  in  always  saying  the  truth,  I  felt  the 
more  worried  because  I  had  not  said  it  to  you. 
And  to-day  it  pained  me  so  I  could  n't  bear  it  any  longer, 
and  I  had  to  tell  you.' 

Emotion  brought  tears  to  Marc's  eyes.  So  his  lessons 
were  already  flowering  in  that  little  mind,  and  it  was  he 
who  garnered  that  first  harvest — a  harvest  of  truth — such 
precious  truth,  too,  which  would  perhaps  enable  him  to 
bring  about  a  little  justice.  Never  had  he  hoped  for  so 
prompt  and  so  sweet  a  reward.  The  emotion  he  felt  was 
exquisite.  With  an  impulse  of  tender  affection  he  stooped 
and  kissed  the  lad. 

4  Thank  you,  my  little  Se"bastien,  you  have  given  me  great 
pleasure,  and  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.' 

Emotion  had  come  upon  the  boy  also.  '  Oh!  I  love  you 
very  much,  monsieur, '  he  answered,  '  for  otherwise  I  should 
not  have  dared  to  tell  you  everything.' 

Marc  resisted  his  desire  to  question  the  boy  fully,  for  he 
feared  lest  he  might  be  accused  of  having  abused  his  au- 
thority as  master  to  aggravate  the  confession.  He  merely 
ascertained  that  Madame  Alexandre  had  taken  the  copy-slip 
from  her  son,  who  did  not  know  what  she  had  done  with  it, 
for  she  had  never  again  mentioned  it  to  him.  For  the  rest, 
the  young  man  preferred  to  see  the  mother.  She  alone 
could  produce  the  slip — if  it  were  still  in  her  possession — 
and  what  a  precious  document  it  would  prove,  for  would  it 
not  constitute  the  long-sought  'new  fact,'  which  might 
enable  Simon's  family  to  apply  for  the  revision  of  his  in- 
iquitous trial? 

On  remaining  alone,  Marc  felt  full  of  joy.  He  wished  it 
were  possible  for  him  to  hasten  to  the  Lehmanns  immedi- 
ately, to  tell  them  the  good  news,  and  impart  a  little  happi- 
ness to  their  sad,  mourning  home,  which  was  the  object  of 
so  much  popular  execration.  At  last!  at  last!  a  sunray  had 
flashed  upon  the  black  night  of  iniquity. 

Going  upstairs  to  join  his  wife,  he  cried  to  her  as  he 
reached  the  threshold,  such  was  his  excitement,  his  craving 
to  relieve  his  heart:  '  Genevieve,  do  you  know,  I  now  have 


1 90  TRUTH 

proof  of  Simon's  innocence     .     .     .     Ah!  justice  is  waken- 
ing; we  shall  be  able  to  go  forward  now! ' 

He  had  not  noticed  the  presence,  in  a  shadowy  corner, 
of  Madame  Duparque,  who,  since  the  reconciliation,  con- 
descended to  visit  her  granddaughter  occasionally.  She,  on 
hearing  him,  gave  a  start  and  exclaimed  in  her  harsh  voice : 
'What?  Simon's  innocence!  Do  you  still  persevere  in 
your  folly,  then?  A  proof  indeed!  What  proof  do  you 
mean? ' 

Then,  after  he  had  related  his  conversation  with  little 
Milhomme,  the  old  lady  again  flew  into  a  temper:  '  The 
evidence  of  a  child!  That  is  n't  of  much  value!  He  now 
pretends  that  he  formerly  lied ;  but  what  proof  is  there  that 
he  is  not  lying  now?  ...  So  the  culprit  would  be  a 
Brother,  eh?  Oh!  speak  your  mind  plainly,  acknowledge 
it;  your  only  object  is  to  accuse  one  of  the  Brothers,  is  that 
not  so?  It  is  always  the  same  rageful  impiety  with  you!  ' 

Somewhat  disconcerted  at  having  thus  come  upon  the  old 
lady,  and  wishing  to  spare  his  wife  the  grief  of  any  fresh 
rupture,  Marc  contented  himself  with  saying:  '  I  won't  dis- 
cuss things  with  you,  grandmother.  I  merely  wished  to  in- 
form Genevieve  of  some  news  which  was  likely  to  please 
her.' 

'But  your  news  does  not  please  her!  '  cried  Madame  Du- 
parque. '  Look  at  her!  ' 

Marc  turned  towards  his  wife,  who  stood  there  in  the 
fading  light  which  fell  from  the  window.  And  indeed,  to 
his  surprise,  he  saw  that  she  was  grave,  that  her  beautiful 
eyes  had  darkened,  as  if  the  night,  now  slowly  approaching, 
had  filled  them  with  shadows. 

'  Is  it  true,  Genevieve? '  he  asked  her;  '  does  a  work  of 
justice  no  longer  please  you? ' 

She  did  not  answer  him  at  once.  She  had  become  pale 
and  embarrassed,  as  if  tortured  by  painful  hesitation.  And 
just  as  he,  likewise  feeling  very  uneasy,  was  repeating  his 
question,  she  was  saved  the  distress  of  answering  him  by  the 
sudden  appearance  of  Madame  Alexandre. 

S£bastien,  on  returning  home,  had  bravely  told  his  mother 
of  his  confession  respecting  the  copy-slip.  She  had  lacked 
the  strength  to  scold  him  for  his  good  action;  but  full  of 
fear  at  the  thought  that  the  schoolmaster  would  call,  ques- 
tion her,  and  demand  the  document  in  the  presence  of  her 
terrible  sister-in-law,  Madame  Edouard,  who  was  so  anxious 
for  the  prosperity  of  their  little  stationery  business,  she  had 


TRUTH  191 

preferred  to  go  to  the  school  and  do  what  she  could  to  bury 
the  affair  at  once. 

Yet  now  she  was  there  her  discomfort  became  great  in- 
deed. Like  a  gust  of  wind  she  had  darted  out  of  her  shop, 
hardly  knowing  what  she  would  say,  and  at  present  she  re- 
mained stammering,  full  of  embarrassment,  particularly  as 
she  perceived  Genevieve  and  Madame  Duparque  with  Marc, 
whom  she  had  hoped  to  see  privately,  alone. 

'  Monsieur  Froment,'  she  began,  '  S£bastien  has  just  told 
me,  yes,  of  that  confession  he  thought  fit  to  make  to  you. 
.  So  I  deemed  it  best  to  give  you  the  reasons  of  my 
conduct.  You  understand — do  you  not? — all  the  worry 
which  such  a  story  would  bring  us  with  the  difficulties  that 
already  beset  us  in  our  business.  Well,  the  fact  is,  it  's 
true;  I  did  have  that  paper,  but  it  no  longer  exists;  I  de- 
stroyed it.' 

She  breathed  again  as  if  relieved,  having  contrived  to 
say  what  she  considered  necessary  in  order  to  be  freed  from 
trouble. 

'  You  destroyed  it! '  Marc  exclaimed  with  a  pang.  '  Oh! 
Madame  Alexandre! ' 

Some  slight  embarrassment  returned  to  her  and  she  once 
more  sought  her  words:  '  I  did  wrong,  perhaps.  .  .  .  But 
think  of  our  position!  We  are  two  poor  women  with  no- 
body to  assist  us.  And,  besides,  it  was  so  sad  to  have  our 
children  mixed  up  in  that  abominable  affair.  ...  I 
could  not  keep  a  paper  which  prevented  me  from  sleeping: 
I  burnt  it  .  .  .' 

She  was  still  quivering  so  perceptibly  that  Marc  looked 
at  her  as  she  stood  there,  tall  and  fair,  with  the  gentle  face 
of  a  woman  of  loving  nature.  And  it  seemed  to  him  that 
she  was  experiencing  some  secret  torment.  For  a  moment 
he  felt  suspicious — wondered  if  she  were  lying — and  it  oc- 
curred to  him  to  test  her  sincerity. 

'By  destroying  that  paper,  Madame  Alexandre,'  he  said, 
'  you  condemned  an  innocent  man  a  second  time.  .  .  . 
Think  of  all  that  he  is  suffering  yonder.  You  would  weep 
if  I  read  his  letters  to  you.  There  can  be  no  worse  torture 
than  his — the  deadly  climate,  the  harshness  of  his  keepers, 
and,  above  all  else,  the  consciousness  of  his  innocence  and 
the  fearful  obscurity  as  to  the  truth,  amid  which  he  is  strug- 
gling. .  .  .  And  what  a  frightful  nightmare  for  you, 
should  you  remember  that  all  this  is  your  work!  ' 

She  had  become  quite   white,   and   her   hands   moved 


IQ2  TRUTH 

involuntarily  as  if  to  ward  off  some  horrible  vision.  There 
was  kindness  and  weakness  in  her  nature,  but  Marc  could 
not  tell  whether  it  were  a  quiver  of  remorse,  or  some  des- 
perate struggle  that  he  detected  in  her.  For  a  moment,  as 
if  imploring  help,  she  stammered  wildly:  '  My  poor  child! 
my  poor  child! ' 

And  that  child,  that  little  Se"bastien,  to  whom  she  was  so 
fondly,  so  passionately  attached,  to  whom  she  would  have 
sacrificed  everything,  must  have  suddenly  appeared  before 
her,  and  have  restored  some  little  of  her  strength.  'Oh! 
you  are  cruel,  Monsieur  Froment! '  she  said;  'you  make 
me  terribly  unhappy.  .  .  .  But  how  can  it  be  helped, 
since  it  's  done?  I  cannot  find  that  paper  again  among  the 
ashes. ' 

'  So  you  burnt  it,  Madame  Alexandre — you  are  sure  of 
it?' 

'  Certainly,  I  told  you  so.  ...  I  burnt  it  for  fear 
lest  my  little  man  should  be  compromised,  and  suffer  from 
it  all  his  life.' 

She  spoke  those  last  words  in  an  ardent  voice,  as  if  with 
fierce  resolution.  Marc  was  convinced,  and  made  a  gesture 
of  despair.  Once  again  the  triumph  of  truth  was  delayed, 
prevented.  Without  a  word  he  escorted  Madame  Alexandre 
to  the  door,  she  again  becoming  all  embarrassment,  at  a  loss 
indeed  how  to  take  leave  of  the  ladies  who  were  present. 
Bowing  and  stammering  excuses,  she  disappeared,  and, 
when  she  was  gone,  deep  silence  reigned  in  the  room. 

Neither  Genevieve  nor  Madame  Duparque  had  inter- 
vened. Both  had  remained  frigid  and  motionless.  And 
they  still  preserved  silence  while  Marc,  absorbed  in  his 
grief,  his  head  bowed,  walked  slowly  to  and  fro.  At  last, 
however,  Madame  Duparque  rose  to  take  her  departure, 
and  on  reaching  the  threshold  she  turned  and  said:  'That 
woman  is  a  lunatic !  Her  story  of  a  destroyed  paper  appears 
to  me  to  be  a  fairy  tale  which  nobody  would  believe.  You 
would  do  wrong  to  relate  it,  for  it  would  not  help  on  your 
affairs.  .  .  .  Good-night:  be  sensible.' 

Marc  did  not  even  answer.  With  a  heavy  tread  he  long 
continued  walking  up  and  down.  Night  had  gathered 
round,  and  Genevieve  lighted  the  lamp.  And  when  by  its 
pale  glow  she  began  to  lay  the  table  in  silence,  her  husband 
did  not  even  try  to  confess  her.  One  sorrow  was  enough, 
and  he  did  not  wish  to  hasten  the  advent  of  another,  such  as 
would  come  should  he  learn,  as  he  might,  that  she,  his  wife, 


TRUTH  193 

was  no  longer  in  communion  with  him  in  respect  to  many 
things. 

But  during  the  following  days  he  was  haunted  by  Madame 
Duparque's  last  words.  Supposing  indeed  that  he  should 
try  to  make  use  of  the  new  fact  which  had  come  to  his  know- 
ledge, what  credit  would  his  statement  obtain  among  the 
public  ?  Doubtless  he  would  secure  the  testimony  of  S£bas- 
tien;  the  boy  would  repeat  that  he  had  seen  the  copy-slip 
which  his  cousin  Victor  had  brought  from  the  Brothers' 
school.  But  it  would  be  the  testimony  of  a  child  barely  ten 
years  old,  and  his  mother  would  strive  to  weaken  its  import- 
ance. It  was  the  paper  itself  that  ought  to  be  produced; 
and  the  statement  that  it  had  been  burnt  would  merely  lead 
to  the  affair  being  buried  once  again. 

The  more  Marc  reflected,  the  more  he  understood  the 
necessity  of  waiting.  The  new  fact  could  not  be  put  to 
use,  given  the  conditions  in  which  he  had  discovered  it. 
And  yet  for  him  how  precious  it  was,  how  fertile  in  decisive 
proof!  It  rendered  his  faith  in  Simon's  innocence  unshak- 
able, it  confirmed  all  his  deductions,  materialised  the  con- 
viction to  which  reasoning  had  brought  him.  One  of  the 
Brothers  was  the  real  culprit;  a  legally  conducted  inquiry 
would  soon  have  shown  which  of  them  it  was.  Yet  the 
young  man  again  had  to  resign  himself  to  patience,  and  rely 
on  the  strength  of  truth,  which  was  now  at  last  on  the  march, 
and  which  would  never  more  be  stopped  until  full  light 
should  be  cast  upon  everything. 

At  the  same  time  Marc's  anguish  increased,  the  torture  of 
his  conscience  became  more  tragical  day  by  day.  It  was 
frightful  to  know  that  an  innocent  man  was  suffering  abomi- 
nable martyrdom  in  a  penal  settlement,  and  that  the  real  cul- 
prit was  free,  near  at  hand,  impudent  and  triumphant,  still 
pursuing  his  vile  work  as  a  corrupter  of  children;  and  it 
was  still  more  frightful  that  one  should  be  unable  to  cry  all 
that  aloud  and  prove  it,  confronted  as  one  was  by  the  base 
complicity  of  all  the  social  forces  banded  together  by  egotis- 
tical interest  to  perpetuate  the  monstrous  iniquity.  Marc 
no  longer  slept,  he  carried  his  secret  with  him  like  a  sharp 
goad  which  incessantly  reminded  him  that  it  was  his  duty 
to  ensure  justice.  Never  for  an  hour  did  he  cease  to  think 
of  his  mission,  and  his  heart  bled  despairingly  because  he 
knew  not  what  to  do  to  hasten  its  success. 

Even  at  the  Lehmanns  he  said  nothing  of  S^bastien's 
confession.  What  good  would  it  have  done  to  give  these 


194  TRUTH 

poor  folk  a  vague  uncertain  hope  ?  Life  still  treated  them 
very  harshly,  overwhelmed  them  with  opprobrium  and  grief 
— grief  for  the  prisoner  yonder,  whose  letters  rent  their 
hearts,  and  whose  name  was  cast  in  their  teeth  as  a  supreme 
insult.  Old  Lehmann's  trade  had  declined  yet  more; 
Rachel,  always  gowned  in  mourning  like  a  widow,  dis- 
tressed by  the  rapid  growth  of  her  children,  who  would 
learn  everything  before  long,  scarcely  dared  to  go  out. 
Thus  Marc  only  confided  in  David,  in  whom  glowed  the 
stubborn  determination  to  make  everybody  recognise  and 
acclaim  his  brother's  innocence  at  some  future  time.  He 
lived  apart,  ignored,  carefully  avoiding  all  appearance  on 
the  scene,  but  never,  not  for  an  hour,  did  he  pause  in  the 
task  of  rehabilitation  which  had  become  the  sole  object  of 
his  life.  He  reflected,  studied,  followed  clues  which  he  too 
often  had  to  abandon  after  a  few  steps.  Despite  two  years 
of  constant  research,  he  had  discovered  nothing  decisive. 
His  suspicion  of  an  illegal  communication  made  by  Presi- 
dent Gragnon  to  the  jurors  had  become  a  moral  certainty, 
only  he  had  failed  in  all  his  efforts  to  procure  proof,  and 
could  not  tell  how  to  obtain  it.  Nevertheless  he  was  not 
discouraged ;  he  had  resolved  to  devote  ten,  twenty  years 
of  his  life  even,  to  reach  the  real  culprit.  Marc's  revelation 
inspired  him  with  additional  courage  and  patience.  He 
likewise  held  that  it  was  best  to  keep  Sebastien's  confession 
secret,  so  long  as  it  was  not  strengthened  by  some  material 
proof.  For  the  moment  it  merely  supplied  the  hope  of  an 
additional  triumph.  And  that  said,  David  again  turned, 
calmly  and  firmly,  to  his  investigations,  pursuing  them 
with  no  haste,  but  ever  in  the  same  prudent,  continuous 
manner. 

One  morning,  before  lessons  began,  Marc  at  last  made  up 
his  mind  to  remove  the  large  crucifix  which  hitherto  he  had 
left  hanging  from  the  wall  behind  his  desk.  He  had  been 
waiting  for  two  years  to  be  sufficiently  master  of  the  situa- 
tion before  expressing  in  this  manner  the  independence  of 
the  secular  school — such  as  he  understood  and  desired  it — 
in  matters  of  religion.  Until  now  he  had  willingly  yielded 
to  Salvan's  prudent  advice,  for  he  understood  that  he  must 
assure  himself  of  his  position  before  making  it  a  position  of 
combat.  But  he  now  felt  strong  enough  to  begin  the  battle. 
Had  he  not  restored  prosperity  to  the  Communal  school  by 
winning  back  to  it  numerous  pupils  who  had  been  trans- 
<%erred  to  the  Brothers'?  Had  he  not  gradually  gained  per- 


TRUTH  195 

sonal  respect,  the  affection  of  the  children,  the  favour  of 
their  parents  ?  Besides,  he  was  impelled  to  take  action  first 
by  his  recent  visit  to  Jonville,  which  he  had  left  on  the  high 
road  to  knowledge,  and  which  Abbe*  Cognasse  was  once 
more  transforming  into  an  abode  of  darkness,  and  secondly 
by  all  the  anxiety  and  anger  stirred  up  within  him  by  Se"bas- 
tien's  confession — anger  with  the  ignominy  that  he  divined 
around  him  in  Maillebois,  which  was  enslaved  and  poisoned 
by  the  clerical  faction. 

That  morning,  then,  he  had  already  climbed  upon  a  stool 
to  remove  the  crucifix,  when  Genevieve,  holding  little 
Louise  by  the  hand,  entered  the  classroom  to  inform  him 
of  her  intention  to  take  the  child  to  spend  the  day  with  her 
grandmother.  At  the  sight  of  Marc  on  the  stool  the  young 
woman  was  quite  surprised.  '  What  are  you  doing  there  ? ' 
she  asked  him. 

'  Can't  you  see  ? '  he  answered.  '  I  am  taking  down  this 
crucifix,  which  I  intend  to  give  to  Abbe"  Quandieu  myself, 
in  order  that  he  may  restore  it  to  the  church  which  it  ought 
never  to  have  left.  .  .  .  Here!  help  me — take  it! ' 

But  she  did  not  hold  out  her  arms.  She  did  not  move. 
Turning  extremely  pale,  she  watched  him  as  if  she  were 
witnessing  some  forbidden  and  dangerous  deed  which  filled 
her  with  fear.  And  he  had  to  descend  from  the  stool  un- 
helped  by  her,  encumbered  with  the  big  crucifix,  which  he 
immediately  locked  up  in  one  of  the  cupboards. 

'You  would  n't  help  me,'  he  exclaimed.  'What  is  the 
matter  ?  Do  you  disapprove  of  what  I  have  done  ? ' 

In  spite  of  her  emotion,  Genevieve  answered  plainly: 
'  Yes,  I  disapprove  of  it.' 

Her  answer  amazed  Marc.  Like  her  he  began  to  quiver. 
It  was  the  first  time  that  she  assumed  such  an  aggressive  and 
angry  tone  with  him.  He  felt  a  little  shock,  a  slight  rend- 
ing, such  as  presages  rupture.  And  he  looked  at  her  with 
astonishment  and  anxiety,  as  if  he  had  heard  a  voice  he  did 
not  know,  as  if  a  stranger  had  just  spoken  to  him. 

'  What!  you  disapprove  of  what  I  do  ?  Was  it  really  you 
who  said  that  ? ' 

'  Yes,  it  was  I.  It  is  wrong  of  you  to  do  what  you  have 
done." 

She  it  was  indeed;  for  she  stood  before  him,  tall  and 
slender,  with  her  fair  amiable  face,  and  her  glance  gleaming 
with  some  of  her  father's  sensual  passion.  Yes,  it  was  she, 
and  yet  in  the  expression  of  those  large  blue  eyes  there  was 


196  TRUTH 

already  something  different,  a  shadow,  a  little  of  the  mysti- 
cal dimness  of  the  au-delct.  And  Marc  in  his  astonishment 
felt  a  chill  come  to  his  heart  as  he  suddenly  observed  that 
change.  What  had  happened,  then  ?  Why  was  she  no 
longer  the  same  ?  But  he  recoiled  from  an  immediate  ex- 
planation, and  contented  himself  with  adding:  'Hitherto, 
even  when  you  did  not  think  perhaps  as  I  did,  you  always 
told  me  to  act  in  accordance  with  my  conscience,  and  that 
is  what  I  have  now  done.  And  so  your  blame  surprised  me 
painfully.  We  shall  have  to  talk  of  it.' 

She  did  not  disarm,  she  preserved  her  angry  frigidity  of 
manner.  '  We  will  talk  of  it  if  you  so  desire, '  she  replied ; 
'meantime  I  am  going  to  take  Louise  to  grandmother,  who 
will  not  bring  her  back  till  this  evening.' 

Sudden  enlightenment  dawned  upon  Marc.  It  was  Ma- 
dame Duparque  who  was  taking  Genevieve  from  him,  and 
who,  doubtless,  would  take  Louise  also.  He  had  acted 
wrongly  in  disinteresting  himself  from  his  wife's  doings,  in 
allowing  her  and  the  child  to  spend  so  much  time  in  that 
pious  house,  where  the  dimness  and  atmosphere  of  a  chapel 
prevailed.  He  had  fail'ed  to  notice  the  stealthy  change 
which  had  been  taking  place  in  his  wife  during  the  last  two 
years,  that  revival  of  her  pious  youth,  of  the  indelible  ed- 
ucation of  other  days,  which,  little  by  little,  had  been  bring- 
ing her  back  to  the  dogmas  which  he  imagined  had  been 
overcome  by  the  efforts  of  his  intellect  and  the  embrace  of 
his  love.  As  yet  she  had  not  begun  to  follow  her  religion 
again  by  attendance  at  Mass,  Communion,  and  Confession, 
but  he  felt  that  she  was  already  parting  from  him,  reverting 
to  the  past  with  slow  but  certain  steps,  each  of  which  would 
place  them  farther  and  farther  asunder. 

'Are  we  no  longer  in  agreement,  then,  my  darling  ? '  he 
asked  her  sadly. 

With  great  frankness  she  replied:  'No.  And  grandmother 
was  right,  Marc ;  all  the  trouble  has  come  from  that  horrible 
affair.  Since  you  have  been  defending  that  man,  who  was 
transported  and  who  deserved  his  punishment,  misfortune 
has  entered  our  home,  and  we  shall  end  by  agreeing  no 
more  in  anything.' 

He  raised  a  cry  of  despair.  '  Is  it  you,'  he  repeated, 
'  you  who  speak  like  that  ?  You  are  against  truth,  against 
justice  now! ' 

'I  am  against  the  deluded  and  malicious  ones  whose  evil 
passions  attack  religion.  They  wish  to  destroy  God;  but, 


TRUTH  197 

even  if  one  quits  the  Church,  one  should  at  least  respect  its 
ministers,  who  do  so  much  good.' 

This  time  Marc  made  no  rejoinder.  A  quarrel  was  out 
of  place  at  that  moment  when  he  was  expecting  the  arrival 
of  the  boys.  But  was  the  evil  so  deep  already  ?  His  grief 
arose  chiefly  from  the  fact  that  at  the  root  of  the  dissenti- 
ment  parting  him  from  his  wife  he  found  the  Simon  affair, 
the  mission  of  equity  which  he  had  imposed  on  himself. 
No  concession  in  that  matter  was  possible  on  his  part,  and 
thus  no  agreement  could  be  arrived  at.  For  two  years  past 
that  monstrous  affair  had  been  mingled  with  every  incident; 
it  was  like  a  poisoned  source  which  would  continue  to  rot 
both  people  and  things,  so  long  as  justice  was  not  done. 
And  now  his  own  home  was  poisoned  by  it. 

Seeing  that  he  preserved  silence,  Genevieve  went  towards 
the  door,  repeating  quietly :  '  Well,  I  am  going  to  grand- 
mother's with  Louise." 

Marc  thereupon  caught  up  the  child  as  if  anxious  to  kiss 
her.  Would  he  also  allow  that  little  one,  the  flesh  of  his 
flesh,  to  be  taken  from  him  ?  Ought  he  not  to  keep  her  in 
his  arms  to  save  her  from  imbecile  and  deadly  contagion  ? 
For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her.  Already  at  five  years  of 
age,  she  showed  signs  of  becoming  tall  and  slender  like  her 
mother,  her  grandmother,  and  her  great-grandmother.  But 
she  lacked  their  pale  fair  hair,  and  she  had  the  lofty  brow  of 
the  Froments,  the  brow  that  suggested  an  impregnable 
tower  of  sense  and  knowledge.  Laughing  loudly,  she  cast 
her  arms  prettily  about  her  father's  neck. 

'  You  know,  papa,  I  will  repeat  my  fable  to  you  when  I 
come  home;  I  know  it  quite  well.' 

Yielding  to  a  sentiment  of  tolerance,  Marc,  for  the  second 
time,  resolved  that  he  would  have  no  dispute.  He  restored 
the  little  one  to  her  mother,  who  led  her  away.  Moreover, 
the  boys  were  now  arriving,,  and  the  classroom  soon  became 
full.  But  anxiety  remained  in  the  master's  heart  at  the 
thought  of  the  struggle  which  he  had  resolved  to  wage  when 
he  removed  the  crucifix  from  the  wall.  That  struggle,  it 
was  now  certain,  would  reach  his  own  hearth.  His  tears 
and  the  tears  of  his  loved  ones  would  flow.  Nevertheless, 
by  an  heroic  effort,  he  mastered  his  suffering;  and  summon- 
ing little  Se'bastien,  the  monitor,  he  bade  him  watch  over 
the  reading  class,  while  for  his  part  he  gaily  proceeded  with 
some  demonstrations  on  the  blackboard,  amidst  the  joyous 
brightness  with  which  the  sunshine  flooded  the  schoolroom. 


II 

THREE  days  later,  in  the  evening,  while  Marc  was  un- 
dressing in  the  bedroom,  Genevieve  being  already  in 
bed,  he  told  her  that  he  had  received  an  urgent  letter 
from  Salvan,  who  wished  to  see  him  on  the  morrow,  Sunday. 

'No  doubt  it  is  about  that  crucifix  which  I  removed  from 
the  classroom, '  the  young  man  added.  '  Some  parents  have 
complained,  it  seems;  and  very  likely  there  will  be  a  great 
to-do.  But  I  anticipated  it.' 

Genevieve,  whose  head  lay  deep  in  her  pillow,  returned 
no  answer.  But  when  Marc  was  in  bed  and  the  light  was 
extinguished,  he  was  delightfully  surprised  to  find  her  cast- 
ing her  arms  about  him,  and  whispering  in  his  ear:  'I  spoke 
to  you  harshly  the  other  day;  and,  it  's  true,  I  don't  think 
as  you  do  about  religion  or  about  the  affair;  but  I  still  love 
you  very  dearly,  I  love  you  with  all  my  heart.' 

Marc  felt  the  more  moved  by  these  words  as,  since  the 
recent  dispute,  his  wife  had  turned  her  back  upon  him,  as 
though  in  token  of  conjugal  rupture. 

'And  as  you  are  going  to  have  trouble,'  she  continued 
softly,  '  I  don't  want  you  to  think  me  angry.  One's  ideas 
may  differ,  but  all  the  same  one  may  love  one  another  very 
much — is  it  not  so  ?  And  if  you  are  mine,  I  am  still  yours, 
my  dear,  dear  husband. ' 

On  hearing  her  speak  like  that  he  clasped  her  to  him  with 
passionate  eagerness.  'Ah!  my  dear  wife,  as  long  as  you 
love  me,  as  long  as  you  are  mine,'  said  he,  'I  shall  fear 
nought  of  the  terrible  threats  around  us.' 

She  yielded  to  his  embrace,  quivering,  transported  by  the 
joy  of  love  which  was  essential  to  her  being.  And  there 
came  a  moment  of  perfect  communion,  irresistible  reconcilia- 
tion. The  good  understanding  of  a  young  couple,  united 
by  love,  is  only  seriously  threatened  when  some  divergency 
of  that  love  arises.  As  long  as  they  are  swayed  by  passion 
one  for  the  other,  they  remain  in  agreement  athwart  the 
worst  mishaps.  He  who  would  part  them  must  first  of  all 
destroy  their  mutual  passion. 

198 


TRUTH  199 

When  Marc  gave  Genevieve  a  last  kiss  before  both  fell 
asleep,  he  thought  it  well  to  reassure  her:  '  I  shall  act  very 
prudently  in  this  affair,  I  promise  you,'  said  he.  '  You  know 
too  that  I  am  moderate  and  reasonable  at  bottom.' 

'Ah!  do  as  you  please,'  she  answered  prettily.  'All  I 
ask  is  that  you  should  come  back  to  me,  and  that  we  should 
still  love  each  other.' 

On  the  morrow  the  young  man  repaired  to  Beaumont, 
quite  enlivened  by  his  wife's  ardent  affection.  He  derived 
fresh  courage  from  it,  and  thus  it  was  with  a  smiling  face 
and  the  demeanour  of  a  combatant  that  he  entered  Salvan's 
private  room  at  the  Training  College.  But  the  first  words 
spoken  by  the  director,  after  they  had  shaken  hands  in  a 
friendly  way,  surprised  and  embarrassed  him. 

'  I  say,  my  good  fellow, '  Salvan  began,  '  so  it  seems  that 
you  have  at  last  discovered  the  new  fact,  the  long-sought 
proof  of  our  poor  Simon's  innocence,  which  will  enable  one 
to  apply  for  the  revision  of  his  trial  ? ' 

Marc,  who  had  anticipated  an  immediate  explanation  on 
the  subject  of  the  crucifix,  remained  for  a  moment  silent, 
wondering  whether  he  ought  to  tell  the  truth  even  to  Sal- 
van.  At  last,  seeking  his  words,  he  said  slowly:  '  The  new 
fact  .  .  .  no,  I  have  nothing  decisive  as  yet.' 

But  Salvan  did  not  notice  his  hesitation.  '  That  is  what 
I  thought,'  he  rejoined,  'for  you  would  have  warned  me, 
eh  ?  Nevertheless,  there  is  a  rumour  of  some  discovery 
made  by  you,  a  document  of  capital  importance,  placed  in 
your  hands  by  chance,  something  like  a  sword  of  Damocles 
which  you  are  said  to  hold  over  the  heads  of  the  real  cul- 
prit and  his  accomplices,  the  whole  clerical  gang  of  the 
region.' 

Marc  listened,  full  of  stupefaction.  Who  could  have 
spoken  ?  How  was  it  that  Se'bastien's  confession  and  his 
mother's  visit  had  become  known  ?  How  was  it  that  par- 
ticulars had  been  spread  abroad,  modified  and  exaggerated 
as  they  passed  from  mouth  to  mouth  ?  The  young  man 
suddenly  made  up  his  mind  to  tell  the  truth  to  Salvan;  he 
felt  it  necessary  to  confide  in  that  worthy  and  sensible  friend 
and  adviser,  on  whom  he  placed  so  much  reliance.  So  he 
told  him  how  he  knew  that  a  copy-slip,  similar  to  the  one 
brought  forward  in  evidence  against  Simon,  had  been  taken 
from  the  Brothers'  school,  and  how  it  had  been  destroyed. 

Salvan,  who  was  deeply  moved,  rose  from  his  chair.  '  It 
was  the  proof  we  needed !  '  he  exclaimed.  '  But  you  act 


200  TRUTH 

rightly  in  remaining  silent  since  we  hold  no  material  evi- 
dence. One  must  wait.  ...  At  present,  however,  I 
understand  the  disquietude,  the  covert  alarm,  which  for 
some  days  past  I  have  detected  among  our  adversaries. 
Some  words  may  have  escaped  you  or  the  boy,  or  his 
mother,  and  chance  words  often  go  far;  or  else  some  mys- 
terious agency  may  have  placed  the  secret  in  circulation, 
misrepresenting  the  facts.  In  any  case  the  culprit  and  his 
accomplices  have  certainly  felt  the  ground  quaking  beneath 
them;  and,  naturally,  they  are  alarmed,  for  they  will  have 
to  defend  their  crime.' 

Then,  passing  to  the  subject  which  had  prompted  his 
urgent  letter,  he  resumed:  'But  I  wished  to  speak  to  you  of 
another  incident,  which  everybody  is  talking  about — your 
removal  of  that  crucifix  from  your  classroom.  You  know 
my  views:  our  schools  ought  to  be  purely  and  simply  secu- 
lar, therefore  all  religious  symbols  are  out  of  place  in  them. 
But  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  tempest  which  your  action 
will  raise.  Unfortunately,  it  is  now  the  interest  of  the  good 
Brothers  and  their  supporters,  the  Jesuits,  to  ruin  you  abso- 
lutely, alarmed  as  they  are  by  the  weapons  which  they  be- 
lieve to  be  in  your  hands.  By  your  action  in  the  matter  of 
the  crucifix  you  have  laid  yourself  open  to  attack,  and  so 
they  are  naturally  rushing  forward  to  the  onslaught. ' 

Marc  understood,  and  made  a  gesture  of  defiance,  like  a 
man  fully  prepared  for  battle.  '  But  have  I  not  acted  pru- 
dently, in  accordance  with  your  advice  ? '  he  responded. 
'  Did  I  not  wait  two  long  years  before  removing  that  cross 
which  was  hung  up  after  Simon's  trial  to  indicate  that  the 
clerical  faction  had  virtually  taken  possession  of  the  Com- 
munal school  ?  I  have  set  that  poor  school  on  its  legs  again ; 
it  was  suspected  and  discredited,  and  I  have  made  it  pro- 
sperous and  free.  So  was  it  not  legitimate  that  my  first 
independent  act  as  schoolmaster,  after  winning  acceptance 
and  then  victory,  should  be  to  rid  the  school  of  all  emblems, 
and  restore  it  to  that  neutrality  in  matters  of  religion,  from 
which  it  ought  never  to  have  departed  ? ' 

Salvan  interrupted  him :  '  Once  again,  I  do  not  blame 
you.  You  showed  great  patience  and  tolerance.  Never- 
theless, your  action  has  taken  place  at  a  terrible  moment, 
and,  feeling  alarmed  for  you,  I  wished  to  discuss  matters  in 
order  to  provide,  if  possible,  for  all  dangerous  contin- 
gencies. ' 

They  sat  down  and  talked  at  length.     The  political  situa- 


TRUTH  201 

tion  of  the  department  was  still  very  bad.  Fresh  elections 
had  taken  place  recently,  and  the  result  had  been  another 
step  in  the  direction  of  clerical  reaction.  An  extraordinary 
thing  had  happened:  Lemarrois,  the  Mayor  of  Beaumont, 
Gambetta's  former  friend,  whose  position  as  deputy  had 
been  deemed  unassailable,  had  found  himself  obliged  to  sub- 
mit to  a  second  ballot,1  through  the  advent  of  a  Socialist 
candidate,  none  other  than  Advocate  Delbos,  whose  address 
at  Simon's  trial  had  marked  him  out  for  the  support  of  the 
revolutionary  faubourgs ;  and,  at  the  second  polling,  Le- 
marrois had  only  won  by  a  majority  of  about  a  thousand 
votes.  Meanwhile,  the  Royalist  and  Catholic  reactionaries 
had  gained  a  seat,  the  handsome  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf  hav- 
ing secured  the  return  of  a  friend,  a  general  officer,  thanks 
to  the  entertainments  which  he  gave  at  La  Desirade,  and  the 
lavish  manner  in  which  he  distributed  Jew  gold,  derived 
from  his  father-in-law,  Baron  Nathan.  Then,  too,  in  order 
to  secure  re-election,  the  amiable  Marcilly,  once  the  hope 
of  all  the  young  men  of  culture,  had  skilfully  completed  his 
evolution  towards  the  welcoming  Church,  which  was  very 
desirous  of  concluding  a  new  pact  with  the  bourgeoisie,  whom 
the  progress  of  Socialism  terrified. 

Though  it  had  accepted  political  equality  the  bourgeoisie 
indeed  was  unwilling  to  concede  equality  in  the  economic 
field,  for  it  desired  to  restore  nothing  of  what  it  had  stolen. 
And  to  resist  the  onslaught  from  below,  it  preferred  to  ally 
itself  with  its  old  enemies.  It  again  began  to  think  that 
religion  had  some  good  features,  that  it  was  useful  as  a  kind 
of  police  institution,  a  barrier,  which  alone  might  check  the 
growing  appetite  of  the  masses.  And  as  a  first  step  the 
bourgeoisie  was  gradually  garbing  itself  in  militarism,  na- 
tionalism, anti-semitism,  and  all  the  other  hypocritical 
disguises  under  which  invading  Clericalism  pursued  its 
road. 

The  army  became  merely  the  emblem  of  brute  force  up- 
holding the  thefts  of  ages,  an  impregnable  wall  of  bayonets 
within  whose  shelter  property  and  capital,  duly  gorged, 
might  digest  in  security.  The  nation,  the  country,  was  the 
ensemble  of  abuses  and  iniquities  which  it  was  criminal  to 

vln  French  elections,  when  several  nominees  contest  some  particular 
seat,  a  candidate,  to  be  successful,  must  obtain  one  half,  plus  one,  of 
the  total  number  of  votes  recorded.  If  no  candidate  secures  that  num- 
ber a  second  ballot  ensues  a  fortnight  later.  On  the  second  occasion  a 
relative  majority  suffices  for  election. — 7Va«j. 


202  TRUTH 

touch,  the  monstrous  social  edifice,  not  one  beam  of  which 
must  be  changed  for  dread  lest  all  should  fall.  The  Jews, 
even  as  in  the  Middle  Ages,  served  as  a  pretext  to  instil 
fresh  warmth  into  cooling  beliefs,  to  exploit  ancestral  hatred, 
and  sow  the  horrid  seeds  of  civil  war.  And  beneath  that 
all-embracing  movement  of  reaction  there  was  nought  save 
the  stealthy  labour  of  the  Church,  seeking  to  regain  the 
ground  she  had  formerly  lost  when  the  old  world  broke  up 
beneath  the  liberating  breath  of  the  French  Revolution.  It 
was  the  Revolution  that  the  Church  strove  to  kill  by  regain- 
ing ascendency  over  the  bourgeoisie,  which  the  Revolution 
had  raised  to  power,  and  which  had  decided  to  betray  it  in 
order  to  retain  that  power,  of  which  it  owed  account  to  the 
masses.  And  the  return  of  the  bourgeoisie  to  the  bosom  of 
the  Church  would  lead  to  the  reconquest  of  the  people,  for 
the  Church's  vast  design  was  to  subjugate  men  by  the  in- 
fluence of  women,  and  particularly  to  lay  hold  of  the  child- 
ren in  their  schools  and  confine  their  minds  in  the  dim 
prison  of  dogmas.  If  the  France  of  Voltaire  were  again  be- 
coming the  France  of  Rome  it  was  because  the  teaching 
Congregations  had  set  their  grip  on  the  young.  And  the 
position  was  becoming  worse  and  worse,  the  Church  was 
already  shrieking  victory — victory  over  the  democracy,  vic- 
tory over  science — full  of  the  hope  that  she  would  prevent 
the  inevitable,  the  completion  of  the  Revolution,  the  junc- 
tion of  the  masses  with  the  bourgeoisie  in  the  seat  of  power, 
and  the  final  liberation  of  the  entire  people. 

'  The  situation  grows  worse  daily, '  said  Salvan ;  '  you 
know  what  a  frantic  campaign  is  being  carried  on  against 
our  system  of  elementary  education.  Last  Sunday,  at 
Beaumont,  a  priest  went  so  far  as  to  say  in  the  pulpit  that  a 
secular  schoolmaster  was  Satan  disguised  as  a  pedagogue. 
"  Fathers  and  mothers!  "  he  cried,  "  you  should  wish  your 
children  to  be  dead  rather  than  in  such  hells  as  those 
schools!  "  .  .  .  As  for  secondary  education,  that  also 
is  a  prey  to  clerical  reaction.  Apart  from  the  ever-in- 
creasing prosperity  of  such  Congregational  establishments 
as  the  College  of  Valmarie,  where  the  Jesuits  finish  poison- 
ing the  sons  of  the  bourgeoisie,  the  officers,  functionaries, 
and  magistrates  of  the  future,  our  Lyce"es,  even,  remain  in 
the  power  of  the  priests.  Here  at  Beaumont,  for  instance, 
the  director,  the  devout  Depinvilliers,  openly  receives 
Father  Crabot,  who  is,  I  think,  the  confessor  of  his  wife  and 
daughters.  Lately,  as  he  felt  discontented  with  Abbd 


TRUTH  2O3 

Leriche,  a  worthy  but  very  aged  man  who  had  fallen  asleep 
in  his  post,  he  secured  a  thoroughly  militant  chaplain.  At 
the  Lyce"es,  no  doubt,  religious  exercises  are  optional;  but 
for  a  boy  to  be  exempted  from  them  a  request  from  his 
parents  is  required.  And  naturally  the  pupil  about  whom 
a  fuss  is  made  in  that  respect  is  badly  noted,  set  upon  one 
side,  and  even  subjected  to  all  sorts  of  petty  persecutions. 
Briefly,  after  thirty  years  of  Republican  rule,  a 
century  of  active  free  thought,  the  Church  still  trains  and 
educates  our  children,  still  remains  paramount,  intent  on 
retaining  her  domination  over  the  world  by  moulding  in  the 
same  old  moulds  as  formerly  the  men  of  bondage  and  error 
that  she  needs  to  govern  on  her  behalf.  And  all  the 
wretchedness  of  the  times  comes  from  that  cause.' 

'But  what  do  you  advise  me  to  do,  my  friend  ? '  Marc  in- 
quired. 'After  acting  as  I  have  done,  am  I  to  retreat  ? ' 

'  No,  certainly  not.  Perhaps,  if  you  had  warned  me,  I 
might  have  begged  you  to  wait  a  little  longer.  But  as  you 
have  removed  that  crucifix  you  must  defend  yourself. 
After  writing  to  you  I  saw  Le  Barazer,  our  Academy  In- 
spector, and  I  now  feel  somewhat  easier  in  mind.  You 
know  him,  and  you  are  aware  how  difficult  it  is  to  guess  his 
thoughts.  Yet  I  believe  that  he  is  at  heart  on  our  side, 
and  I  should  be  greatly  surprised  if  he  were  to  play  into  the 
hands  of  our  enemies.  But  everything  will  depend  on  you, 
on  your  power  of  resistance,  on  the  firmness  of  the  position 
you  have  acquired  at  Maillebois.  I  foresee  a  frantic  cam- 
paign on  the  part  of  the  Brothers,  the  Capuchins,  and  the 
Jesuits,  for  you  are  not  merely  a  secular  schoolmaster,  other- 
wise an  incarnation  of  Satan,  but  you  are,  particularly,  the 
defender  of  Simon — that  is,  the  torchbearer,  the  soldier  of 
truth  and  justice,  whose  light  must  be  extinguished  and 
whose  lips  must  be  sealed.  In  any  case,  be  prudent  and 
sensible  and  keep  up  your  courage.' 

Salvan,  who  had  risen,  grasped  the  young  man's  hands, 
and  for  a  moment  they  remained  thus,  smiling  as  they  gazed 
at  each  other,  their  eyes  shining  with  courage  and  faith. 

'At  least  you  do  not  despair  of  the  final  result,  my  friend  ? ' 

'Despair,  my  boy?  Ah!  never!  Victory  is  certain;  I 
do  not  know  when  it  will  come,  but  it  is  certain.  Besides, 
there  is  more  cowardice  and  egotism  than  actual  malice 
among  some  of  our  adversaries.  How  many  of  our  univer- 
sity men  are  neither  really  good  nor  really  bad,  though  on 
striking  an  average  one  finds  perhaps  rather  more  goodness 


204  TRUTH 

than  evil  among  them.  The  worst  is  that  they  are  func- 
tionaries, and  as  such  are  wedded  to  routine,  apart  from 
which  their  one  concern  is  their  advancement,  as  is  natural. 
Forbes,  our  Rector,  harbours,  I  fancy,  the  contempt  of  a 
philosopher  for  these  wretched  times,  and  on  that  account 
is  content  to  play  the  part  of  a  piece  of  administrative  me- 
chanism connecting  the  Minister  with  the  university  staff. 
Then,  too,  if  Depinvilliers  sets  himself  on  the  side  of  the 
Church,  it  is  merely  because  he  has  two  ugly  daughters  on 
his  hands,  and  relies  on  Father  Crabot  to  supply  them  with 
rich  husbands.  As  for  the  terrible  Mauraisin — whom  you 
will  do  well  to  beware  of,  for  he  has  an  ugly  soul — he  would 
like  to  be  in  my  shoes;  and  he  would  go  over  to  your  side 
to-morrow  if  he  thought  you  in  a  position  to  give  him  my 
berth.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  many  of  them  are  merely  poor 
hungry  devils,  while  others  are  men  of  weak  intellect — they 
will  come  over  to  our  side  and  even  help  us  when  we  have 
won  the  battle.' 

He  laughed  indulgently.  Then,  becoming  grave  once 
more,  he  added:  'Besides,  the  good  work  I  do  here  pre- 
vents me  from  despairing.  As  you  know,  I  hide  myself 
away  in  my  little  corner;  but,  day  by  day,  I  strive  to  hasten 
the  future.  And  things  move — they  move.  I  am  very  well 
satisfied  with  my  young  men.  No  doubt  it  is  still  rather 
difficult  to  recruit  students,  for  the  profession  appears  so 
thankless,  so  poorly  paid,  leading  to  nothing  but  contumely 
and  a  life  of  certain  wretchedness.  All  the  same,  we  had 
more  competitors  than  usual  this  year.  It  is  hoped  that 
the  Chambers  will  end  by  voting  reasonable  salaries,  such 
as  may  enable  the  humblest  masters  to  live  in  some  little 
dignity.  And  you  will  see,  you  will  see  what  will  happen 
when  properly  trained  masters  leave  this  college  and  spread 
through  the  villages  and  the  towns,  carrying  words  of  de- 
liverance with  them,  destroying  error,  superstition,  and 
falsehood  on  all  sides,  like  the  missionaries  of  a  new  human- 
ity! The  Church  will  be  vanquished  then,  for  it  can  only 
subsist  and  triumph  amid  ignorance,  and  when  it  is  swept 
away  the  whole  nation  will  march  unchecked  towards  solid- 
arity and  peace.' 

'Ah!  my  old  friend,  that  is  the  great  hope!  '  cried  Marc; 
'  that  is  what  lends  all  of  us  the  strength  and  cheerfulness 
we  need  to  do  our  work.  Thanks  for  inspiriting  me;  I  will 
try  to  be  sensible  and  courageous.' 

They  once   more  shook  hands  energetically,  and  Marc 


TRUTH  205 

returned  to  Maillebois,  where  the  fiercest  battle,  war  to  the 
knife,  awaited  him. 

There,  as  at  Beaumont,  the  political  situation  had  become 
worse.  The  last  municipal  elections,  following  those  for 
the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  had  also  given  disastrous  results. 
Darras  had  found  his  party  in  a  minority  in  the  new  Muni- 
cipal Council;  and  Philis,  the  clerical  councillor,  the  leader 
of  the  reactionary  cause,  had  now  been  elected  Mayor. 
Before  everything  else,  Marc  wished  to  see  Darras  in  order 
to  ascertain  how  far  the  latter  might  yet  be  able  to  support 
him.  So  he  presented  himself,  one  evening,  in  the  com- 
fortable drawing-room  of  the  handsome  house  which  the 
contractor  had  built  himself.  Darras,  as  soon  as  he  per- 
ceived him,  raised  his  arms  to  the  ceiling. 

'Ah !  my  dear  schoolmaster,  so  now  you  have  the  whole 
pack  at  your  heels!  Oh!  I  shall  be  on  your  side,  you  may 
rely  on  me  now  that  I  am  beaten,  reduced  to  opposition. 
It  was  difficult  for  me  to  be  always  on  your  side 
when  I  was  Mayor;  for,  as  you  know,  the  majority  I  dis- 
posed of  was  only  one  of  two  votes.  But  even  when  I  had 
to  act  contrary  to  your  desires,  I  repeated  to  myself  that 
you  were  a  thousand  times  right.  At  present  we  shall  be 
able  to  go  forward,  since  the  only  course  open  to  me  is  to 
fight  and  try  to  upset  Philis,  and  take  the  mayoralty  from 
him.  You  did  quite  right  when  you  removed  that  crucifix 
from  the  schoolroom;  it  wasn't  there  in  Simon's  time,  and 
it  ought  never  to  have  been  there  at  all.' 

Marc  made  bold  to  smile.  '  Why,  every  time  I  spoke  to 
you  of  removing  it, '  said  he,  '  you  protested.  You  talked 
of  the  necessity  of  prudence,  of  the  danger  of  frightening 
the  children's  parents,  and  giving  our  adversaries  a  weapon 
against  us.' 

4  But  I  have  just  admitted  to  you  how  embarrassed  I  was! 
Ah!  it  is  by  no  means  easy  to  manage  a  town  like  Maille- 
bois, where  the  forces  of  the  different  parties  have  always 
balanced,  and  where  nobody  has  ever  been  able  to  tell 
whether  the  freethinkers  or  the  priests  would  win  the  day. 
At  this  moment  we  are  certainly  not  in  a  brilliant  position, 
but  we  must  keep  up  our  courage.  We  shall  end  by  giving 
them  a  good  licking,  which  will  make  us  masters  of  the 
town  for  good.' 

4  That  's  certain,'  replied  Marc,  delighted  with  the  fine 
valour  displayed  by  the  ambitious  contractor,  who,  at  heart, 
was  a  worthy  man. 


206  TRUTH 

1  Particularly,'  continued  Darras,  '  as  Philis  won't  dare  to 
take  any  serious  step,  for,  in  his  turn,  he  has  only  a  major- 
ity of  two,  such  as  rendered  me  so  timid.  He  is  condemned 
to  mark  time,  and  will  live  in  constant  fear  of  some  slight 
change  which  may  place  him  in  a  minority.  I  know  by 
experience  what  that  means! ' 

He  made  merry  over  it  in  a  noisy  way.  He  harboured 
against  Philis  the  hatred  of  a  big  and  healthy  man  with  a 
sound  stomach  and  a  sound  brain,  who  was  chagrined  by 
the  sight  of  the  new  Mayor's  lean  little  figure,  dark,  hard 
face,  pointed  nose  and  thin  lips.  Philis  had  retired  from 
business  as  a  tilt  and  awning  maker,  at  the  time  of  his  wife's 
death,  and,  though  possessed  of  an  income  of  some  ten 
thousand  francs  a  year,  the  real  origin  of  which  remained 
somewhat  obscure,  he  lived  in  great  retirement,  attended 
by  a  single  servant,  a  huge  fair  creature  of  whom  evil 
tongues  spoke  very  badly.  Her  master  had  a  daughter 
named  Octavie,  twelve  years  of  age,  now  with  the  nuns  of 
the  Visitation  at  Beaumont,  and  a  son,  Raymond,  ten  years 
old,  who  was  a  boarder  at  the  Jesuit  College  of  Valmarie, 
pending  the  time  when  he  might  enter  the  military  school 
of  St.  Cyr.  Having  thus  rid  himself  of  his  children,  the 
new  Mayor  led  a  close,  narrow  life,  most  careful  in  all  his 
religious  observances,  ever  in  conference  with  the  black 
frocks,  and  really  acting  as  the  executor  of  the  Congrega- 
tions' decisions.  His  election  as  Mayor  was  sufficient  proof 
of  the  acute  stage  which  the  religious  crisis  had  reached  in 
that  town  of  Maillebois,  which  the  struggle  between  the 
Republic  and  the  Church  was  ravaging. 

'And  so  I  may  go  forward,'  said  Marc;  '  you  will  support 
me  with  the  minority  of  the  Council  ?  ' 

'  Why,  certainly ! '  cried  Darras.  '  Only,  be  reasonable, 
don't  give  us  too  big  an  affair  to  deal  with.' 

On  the  very  morrow  the  contest  began ;  and  apparently  it 
was  Savin,  the  clerk,  the  father  of  the  twin  boys,  Achille 
and  Philippe,  who  was  chosen  to  strike  the  first  blow.  At 
all  events,  on  leaving  his  office  in  the  evening,  he  came  to 
the  school  to  pick  a  quarrel  with  the  master. 

'  You  know  what  I  am — is  that  not  so,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment  ? '  said  he.  '  I  am  a  radical  Republican,  and  nobody 
can  suspect  me  of  conspiring  with  the  priests.  Neverthe- 
less, on  behalf  of  a  number  of  parents  I  have  come  to  ask 
you  to  replace  that  crucifix  which  you  removed,  for  religion 
is  necessary  for  children  as  well  as  for  women.  .  .  .  No 


TRUTH  207 

priests  in  the  school,  I  agree  to  that;  but  Christ,  remember 
it,  was  the  first  of  Republicans  and  revolutionaries! ' 

Marc,  however,  desired  to  know  the  names  of  the  other 
parents  whom  Savin  represented.  '  If  you  have  not  come 
merely  on  your  own  behalf, '  said  he,  '  will  you  tell  me  what 
families  have  delegated  you  ?  ' 

'Oh!  "delegated" — that  is  not  quite  correct.  I  have 
seen  Doloir  the  mason,  and  Bongard  the  fanner,  and  have 
found  that  they  blame  you  as  I  myself  do.  Only,  it  is 
always  compromising  to  protest  and  give  one's  signature — 
is  that  not  so  ?  I  myself  risk  a  good  deal  by  coming  for- 
ward, on  account  of  my  superiors.  But  the  voice  of  my 
conscience  as  the  father  of  a  family  speaks  too  loudly  for 
me  to  act  otherwise.  How  shall  I  ever  manage  those  two 
scapegraces  of  mine,  Achille  and  Philippe,  if  you  do  not 
frighten  them  a  little  with  fear  of  the  punishment  of  God 
and  the  torments  of  hell  ?  Look  at  my  big  girl,  Hortense, 
who  is  so  good  in  every  respect,  and  who  was  admired  by 
all  Maillebois  when  she  took  her  first  Communion  this  year! 
By  taking  her  to  church,  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  has  made 
her  really  perfect.  Compare  your  work  with  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire's,  compare  my  two  boys  with  my  daughter.  By  that 
comparison  alone  you  stand  condemned,  Monsieur  Froment.' 

Marc  smiled  in  his  quiet  way.  The  amiable  Hortense,  a 
pretty  and  precocious  girl  of  thirteen,  one  of  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire's  favourites,  occasionally  contrived  to  climb  over 
the  wall  separating  the  playgrounds  of  the  two  schools,  in 
order  that  she  might  hide  away  in  corners  with  lads  of  her 
own  age.  Even  as  Savin  had  suggested,  the  young  man 
had  often  compared  his  pupils,  from  whom  by  degrees  he 
obtained  a  little  more  reason  and  truth,  with  the  pupils  of 
the  schoolmistress,  his  neighbour — the  affectedly  prim  and 
gentle  little  girls  who  were  fed  on  clerical  pap,  falsehood,  and 
hypocrisy,  and  perturbed,  even  secretly  spoilt,  by  the  cor- 
rupting influence  of  the  mysterious.  Marc  would  have  liked 
to  have  seen  his  boys  and  those  girls  together — those  girls 
who  were  now  reared  and  educated  apart,  from  whom 
everything  was  hidden,  whose  minds  and  whose  senses  were 
heated  by  all  the  fires  of  mysticism.  They  would  then  have 
ceased  to  climb  over  walls  to  go  in  search  of  so-called  sin, 
the  forbidden  fruit  of  damnation  and  delight.  Yes,  only  a 
system  of  mixed  schools  could  ensure  the  health  and 
strength  of  the  free  and  happy  nation  of  to-morrow.1 

1  This  problem  seems   to   have   been  solved  in  the  United  States, 


2O8  TRUTH 

To  Savin,  however,  Marc  merely  said:  'Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  does  her  duty  as  she  understands  it;  and  I  do 
mine  in  the  same  way.  ...  If  families  would  only  help 
me,  the  good  work  of  training  and  education  would  progress 
more  rapidly.' 

At  this  Savin  lost  his  temper.  Lean  and  puny,  buttoned 
up  in  his  shabby  frock  coat,  he  drew  himself  erect  on  his 
little  legs :  '  Do  you  insinuate  that  I  give  bad  examples  to 
my  children  ? '  he  asked. 

4  Oh !  certainly  not.  Only  everything  that  I  teach  them 
here  is  afterwards  contradicted  by  what  they  see  in  the 
world  around  them.  They  find  truthfulness  regarded  as 
dangerous  audacity,  and  reason  condemned  as  being  insuffi- 
cient, incapable  of  forming  honest  men.' 

Marc  indeed  was  greatly  grieved  that  he  should  be 
thwarted  so  often  by  his  pupils'  parents,  when  he  dreamt  of 
obtaining  from  them  the  necessary  help  to  hasten  the  eman- 
cipation of  the  humble.  If  on  leaving  school  every  day  the 
children  had  only  found  in  their  homes  some  realisation  of 
their  lessons,  some  practice  of  the  social  duties  and  rights 
in  which  they  were  instructed,  how  much  easier  and  swifter 
would  have  been  the  march  of  improvement!  Such  col- 
laboration was  even  indispensable ;  the  schoolmaster  could 
Hot  suffice  for  many  things,  the  most  delicate,  the  most  use- 
ful, when  his  pupils'  parents  did  not  continue  his  work  in 
the  same  spirit  and  complete  it.  The  master  and  the 
parents  ought  to  have  gone  hand  in  hand  towards  the  same 
goal  of  truth  and  justice.  And  how  sad  it  was  when,  in- 
stead of  obtaining  the  parents'  help,  the  master  saw  them 
destroying  the  little  good  he  effected,  unconscious  for  the 
most  part  of  what  they  were  doing,  yielding  simply  to  the 
incoherence  of  their  ideas  and  their  lives. 

But  Savin  was  again  speaking.  'Briefly,'  said  he,  'you 
will  hang  up  that  cross  again,  Monsieur  Froment,  if  you 
wish  to  please  us  all,  and  live  on  good  terms  with  us,  which 
is  what  we  desire,  for  you  are  not  a  bad  schoolmaster. ' 

where,  judging  by  official  reports,  the  mingling  of  the  sexes  in  the 
schools  is  extensive.  Thence  (I  judge  the  matter  as  an  European)  must 
have  come  the  very  great  and  distinctly  beneficial  influence  exercised 
by  American  women  on  the  national  character.  Perhaps  it  is  not  too 
much  to  say  that,  apart  from  such  incentives  as  a  mere  desire  to  gain 
money,  the  women  of  the  United  States  have  largely  helped  to  make 
their  race  the  most  enterprising  and  progressive  in  the  world.  As  for 
the  influence  of  mixed  schools  on  morals,  Americans  have  repeatedly 
assured  me  that  it  has  been  the  best  possible. — Trans. 


TRUTH  209 

Marc  smiled  again.  'Thank  you,'  he  said.  'But  why 
did  not  Madame  Savin  accompany  you  ?  She,  at  any  rate, 
would  have  been  playing  her  proper  part,  for  she  follows  the 
observances  of  the  Church — I  know  it.' 

'  She  is  religious,  as  all  respectable  women  ought  to  be,' 
the  clerk  answered  dryly.  '  I  would  rather  have  her  go  to 
Mass  than  take  a  lover.' 

He  looked  at  Marc  suspiciously,  consumed  as  he  was  by 
sickly  jealousy,  regarding  every  man  as  a  possible  rival. 
Why  did  the  schoolmaster  regret  that  his  wife  had  not  ac- 
companied him  ?  Had  she  not  twice  called  at  the  school 
recently  under  the  pretext  of  explaining  to  the  master  why 
Achille  and  Philippe  had  been  absent  on  sundry  occasions  ? 
For  some  time  past  he,  Savin,  had  compelled  her  to  con- 
fess regularly  once  a  week  to  Father  Th£odose,  the  Superior 
of  the  Capuchins,  for  it  had  occurred  to  him  that  the  shame 
of  avowal  might  stay  her  in  her  course  along  the  road  to  in- 
fidelity. On  her  side,  if  in  earlier  times  she  had  followed 
the  Church  observances  merely  in  order  to  secure  peace  at 
home — for  she  was  quite  destitute  of  faith — she  now  repaired 
with  some  alacrity  to  the  tribunal  of  penitence,  for,  like  the 
other  young  devotees  who  dreamt  of  Father  Th^odose,  she 
had  rid  herself  of  earlier  prejudices,  and  begun  to  regard 
him  as  a  superb  and  most  delightful  man. 

'As  it  happens,'  said  Marc,  with  some  little  maliciousness, 
in  response  to  Savin's  declaration,  '  I  had  the  pleasure  of 
meeting  Madame  Savin  last  Thursday.  She  was  leaving 
the  chapel  on  the  Place  des  Capucins,  and  we  had  a  brief 
chat.  As  all  her  words  to  me  were  most  gracious,  I 
thought  I  might  express  my  regret  at  not  seeing  her  with 
you  to-day.' 

The  husband  made  a  doleful  gesture.  His  everlasting 
suspicions  had  reached  such  a  point  that  he  himself  now 
went  to  Beaumont  to  deliver  the  bead  work  which  he 
allowed  his  wife  to  do  in  secret  in  order  to  add  a  few  indis- 
pensable coppers  to  his  meagre  salary.  Their  case  was  one 
of  hidden  wretchedness,  with  all  the  torments  that  make 
hells  of  the  homes  of  needy  employes,  burdened  with  child- 
ren, the  embittered  husband  becoming  an  unbearable  de- 
spot, and  the  gentle  and  pretty  wife  resigning  herself  in 
silence  until  she  at  last  discovers  some  consolation. 

'  My  wife  neither  has  nor  ought  to  have  any  opinion  but 
mine,'  Savin  ended  by  declaring.  '  It  is  in  her  name  as 
•well  as  my  own,  and  in  the  names  of  many  other  parents — 


210  TRUTH 

I  repeat  it  —  that  I  have  made  this  application  to  you. 
.  .  .  It  is  now  for  you  to  decide  if  you  will  act  upon  it. 
You  will  think  the  matter  over.' 

'  I  have  thought  it  over,  Monsieur  Savin,'  replied  Marc, 
who  had  become  grave  again.  '  Before  removing  that 
crucifix  I  understood  fully  what  I  was  going  to  do;  and 
since  it  is  no  longer  there,  I  shall  certainly  not  put  it  up 
again.' 

On  the  following  day  a  report  spread  through  Maillebois 
that  a  deputation  of  parents,  fathers  and  mothers,  had 
called  upon  the  schoolmaster,  and  that  there  had  been  a 
stormy  explanation,  a  frightful  scandal.  But  Marc  soon 
understood  whence  the  attack  had  really  come,  for  chance 
acquainted  him  with  the  circumstances  which  had  led  to 
Savin's  visit.  Though  pretty  Madame  Savin  took  no  real 
interest  in  the  affair,  absorbed  as  she  was  in  her  desire  for  a 
little  more  personal  happiness,  she  had  none  the  less  served 
as  an  instrument  in  the  hands  of  Father  The"odose ;  for  it 
was  on  being  approached  by  her,  on  the  Capuchin's  behalf, 
that  her  husband  had  repaired  to  a  secret  interview  with  the 
latter,  which  interview  had  prompted  him  to  call  on  Marc 
and  endeavour  to  check  a  state  of  things  which  was  so  pre- 
judicial to  family  morality  and  good  order.  No  crucifixes 
in  the  schools  indeed!  Would  that  not  mean  indiscipline 
among  the  boys,  and  shamelessness  among  the  girls  and 
their  mothers  also  ?  So  the  lean  and  little  Savin,  the  Re- 
publican and  anti-clerical,  unhinged  by  his  wretched  spoilt 
life  and  his  idiotic  jealousy,  had  set  forth  to  champion  the 
cause  of  virtue,  like  an  authoritarian,  a  topsy-turvy  Catho- 
lic, who  pictured  the  human  paradise  as  a  gaol,  in  which 
everything  human  ought  to  be  subdued  and  crushed. 

Besides,  behind  Father  The"odose,  Marc  readily  divined 
Brother  Fulgence  and  his  assistants,  Brothers  Gorgias  and 
Isidore,  who  hated  the  secular  school  more  than  ever  since 
it  had  been  taking  pupils  from  them.  And  behind  the 
Brothers  came  Fathers  Philibin  and  Crabot  of  the  College 
of  Valmarie,  those  powerful  personages  whose  skilful  unseen 
hands  had  been  directing  the  whole  campaign  ever  since  the 
monstrous  Simon  affair.  The  accomplices  in  that  slumber- 
ing crime  seemed  determined  to  defend  it  by  other  deeds 
of  iniquity.  At  the  outset  Marc  had  guessed  where  the 
whole  band,  from  the  lowest  to  the  highest,  was  crouching. 
But  how  could  one  seize  and  convict  them  ?  If  Father 
Crabot,  amiable  and  worldly,  still  showed  himself  constantly 


TRUTH  211 

among  the  fine  society  of  Beaumont,  busily  directing  the 
steps  of  his  penitents  and  ensuring  the  rapid  fortune  of  his 
former  pupils,  his  assistant,  Father  Philibin,  had  virtually 
disappeared,  restricting  himself  entirely,  so  it  seemed,  to 
his  absorbing  duties  as  manager  at  Valmarie.  Nothing 
transpired  of  the  stealthy  work  which  was  so  ardently  pur- 
sued in  the  darkness,  every  moment  being  employed  to 
ensure  the  triumph  of  the  good  cause.  All  that  Marc  him- 
self could  detect  was  the  espionage  attending  his  own  move- 
ments. He  was  tracked  with  priestly  caution,  black  figures 
were  constantly  prowling  around  him.  None  of  his  visits 
to  the  Lehmanns,  none  of  his  conversations  with  David 
could  have  remained  unknown.  And,  as  Salvan  had  said, 
the  others  tracked  him  because  he  was  an  impassioned 
soldier  of  truth  and  justice,  because  he  was  a  witness  who 
already  possessed  certain  proofs,  and  whose  avenging  cry 
must  be  thrust  back  into  his  throat,  even  by  extermination 
if  necessary.  To  that  task  the  frock  and  cassock  wearers 
devoted  themselves  with  increasing  audacity,  joined  even 
by  poor  Abb£  Quandieu,  who  felt  grieved  at  having  to  place 
religion  at  the  service  of  such  iniquitous  work,  but  who  re- 
signed himself  to  it  in  obedience  to  the  behests  of  his 
Bishop,  the  mournful  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  whom  he 
visited  every  week  at  Beaumont  to  take  his  orders  and 
console  him  in  his  defeat.  Bishop  and  priest  cast  the  cloak 
of  their  ministry  over  the  sore  devouring  the  Church  whose 
respectful  sons  they  were,  hiding  meantime  their  tears  and 
their  fears,  unwilling  to  acknowledge  the  mortal  danger  into 
which  they  saw  religion  sinking. 

One  evening  Mignot,  on  coming  into  the  school  from  the 
playground,  said  to  Marc  in  a  fury: 

'It  's  getting  quite  disgusting,  monsieur!  I  've  again 
caught  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  spying  on  us  from  the  top  of 
a  ladder! ' 

Indeed,  whenever  the  schoolmistress  fancied  that  she 
would  not  be  detected,  she  set  a  ladder  against  the  wall 
dividing  the  two  playgrounds,  in  order  that  she  might  ascer- 
tain what  was  going  on  in  the  boys'  school.  And  Mignot 
accused  her  of  sending  secret  reports  on  the  subject  to 
Mauraisin  every  week. 

'Oh!  let  her  pry,'  Marc  answered  gaily.  '  But  there  is 
no  occasion  for  her  to  tire  herself  by  climbing  a  ladder. 
I  '11  set  the  door  wide  open  for  her,  if  she  desires  it.' 

'Ah!  no,  not  that!'  cried  the  assistant.     '  Let  her  keep 


212  TRUTH 

her  place !  If  she  tries  it  on  again,  I  shall  go  round  and 
pull  her  down  by  the  legs ! ' 

Marc,  to  his  great  satisfaction,  was  now  gradually  com- 
pleting the  conquest  of  Mignot.  The  latter,  like  a  peasant's 
son  whose  one  desire  was  to  escape  the  plough,  a  man  of 
average  mind  and  character,  who  like  so  many  others 
thought  solely  of  his  immediate  interests,  had  always  shown 
himself  distrustful  with  Simon.  Indeed,  nothing  good  could 
come  from  a  Jew,  and  so  he  had  deemed  it  prudent  to  keep 
aloof  from  him.  At  the  time  of  the  trial,  therefore,  though 
he  was  sufficiently  honest  to  refrain  from  overwhelming  the 
innocent  prisoner,  he  had  not  given  the  good  and  truthful 
evidence  which  might  have  saved  him.  At  a  later  stage  he 
had  likewise  placed  himself  on  the  defensive  with  Marc, 
with  whom  he  thought  it  would  be  foolish  to  ally  himself  if 
he  desired  advancement.  For  nearly  a  whole  year,  there- 
fore, he  had  displayed  hostility,  taking  his  meals  at  an  eat- 
ing-house, grudging  the  help  he  gave  in  the  school  work,  and 
freely  blaming  his  principal's  attitude.  At  that  time  indeed 
he  had  been  very  thick  with  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  and 
willing,  it  seemed,  to  place  himself  at  the  orders  of  the 
Congregations.  But  Marc,  instead  of  evincing  any  per- 
turbation, had  treated  his  assistant  with  unremitting  kind- 
ness, as  if  he  were  desirous  of  giving  him  all  necessary  time 
to  reflect  and  understand  that  his  real  interest  lay  on  the 
side  of  truth  and  equity. 

Indeed,  in  Marc's  opinion,  that  big,  calm  young  fellow, 
whose  only  passion  was  angling,  offered  an  interesting  sub- 
ject for  experiment.  Though  he  became  cowardly  when 
he  thought  of  the  future,  and  was  somewhat  spoilt  by  the 
environment  of  ferocious  egotism  in  which  he  found  him- 
self, there  was  nothing  absolutely  evil  in  his  nature.  In  fact, 
he  might  be  made  an  excellent  school  teacher  and  even  a 
man  of  most  upright  mind  if  he  were  helped,  sustained  by 
one  of  energy  and  intelligence.  The  idea  of  experimenting 
in  that  sense  attracted  Marc,  who  felt  well  pleased  as,  little 
by  little,  he  gained  the  confidence  and  affection  of  this 
wanderer,  thereby  proving  the  truth  of  the  axiom  in  which 
he  set  all  his  hopes  of  future  deliverance  —  that  there  is  no 
man,  even  one  on  the  road  to  perdition,  who  may  not  be 
made  an  artisan  of  progress.  Mignot  had  been  won  over 
by  the  active  gaiety,  the  beneficent  glow  of  truth  and  justice 
which  Marc  set  around  him.  He  now  took  his  meals  with  his 
principal,  and  had  become,  as  it  were,  a  member  of  the  family. 


TRUTH  213 

'  It  is  wrong  of  you  not  to  distrust  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire,'  he  resumed.  'You  have  no  idea,  monsieur,  of  what 
she  is  capable.  She  would  betray  you  a  dozen  times  over 
in  order  to  obtain  good  reports  from  her  friend  Mauraisin.' 

Then,  being  in  a  confidential  mood,  he  related  how  she 
had  repeatedly  urged  him  to  listen  at  keyholes  and  report 
to  her.  He  knew  her  well;  she  was  a  terrible  woman, 
harsh  and  avaricious,  despite  all  her  varnish  of  exaggerated 
courtesy;  and  though  she  was  big  and  bony,  with  a  flat, 
freckled  face,  quite  destitute  of  any  charm,  she  ended  by 
seducing  everybody.  As  she  herself  boasted,  she  knew  how 
to  act.  To  the  anti-clericals  who  angrily  reproached  her 
for  taking  her  girls  so  often  to  church,  she  replied  that  she 
was  compelled  to  comply  with  the  desires  of  the  parents 
under  penalty  of  losing  her  pupils.  To  the  clericals  she 
gave  the  most  substantial  pledges,  convinced  as  she  was 
that  they  were  the  stronger  party  and  that  on  their  influence 
depended  the  best  appointments  even  in  the  secular  school 
world.  In  reality  she  was  guided  solely  by  her  own  inter- 
ests, as  she  understood  them,  having  inherited  the  instincts 
of  a  petty  trader  from  her  parents,  who  had  kept  a  fruiterer's 
shop  at  Beaumont.  She  had  not  married,  because  she  pre- 
ferred to  live  as  she  listed,  and,  although  she  did  not  carry 
on  with  the  priests,  as  was  maliciously  rumoured  by  evil 
tongues,  it  seemed  certain  that  she  had  a  soft  spot  in  her 
heart  for  handsome  Mauraisin,  who,  like  the  little  man  he 
was,  admired  women  built  after  the  fashion  of  gendarmes. 
Again,  it  was  not  true  that  she  got  drunk,  though  she  was 
very  fond  of  sweet  liqueurs.  If  she  occasionally  looked 
very  red  when  afternoon  lessons  began,  it  was  simply  be- 
cause she  ate  abundantly  and  her  digestive  organs  were  out 
of  order. 

Marc  made  an  indulgent  gesture.  '  She  does  not  keep 
her  school  badly,'  said  he;  '  the  only  thing  that  grieves  me 
is  the  spirit  of  narrow  pietism  which  she  introduces  into  all 
her  teaching.  My  boys  and  her  girls  are  separated  by  an 
abyss,  not  merely  by  a  wall.  And  when  they  meet  one 
another,  later,  and  think  of  marrying,  they  will  belong  to 
different  worlds.  But  is  not  that  the  traditional  custom  ? 
The  warfare  of  the  sexes  largely  arises  from  it.' 

The  young  man  did  not  mention  the  chief  cause  of  his 
rancour  against  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  the  reason  which 
had  impelled  him  to  keep  aloof  from  her.  This  was  her 
abominable  conduct  in  Simon's  case.  He  remembered  the 


214  TRUTH 

quiet  effrontery  with  which  she  had  played  the  game  of  the 
Congregations  at  the  trial  at  Beaumont,  how  she  had  heaped 
impudent  falsehoods  on  the  innocent  prisoner,  how  she  had 
accused  him  of  giving  immoral  and  anti-patriotic  lessons  to 
his  pupils.  And  so  Marc's  intercourse  with  her  since  his 
appointment  to  Maillebois  had  never  gone  beyond  the  limits 
of  strict  politeness,  such  as  the  proximity  of  their  homes 
required.  She,  however,  having  seen  the  young  man 
strengthen  his  position,  in  such  wise  that  his  sudden  down- 
fall could  now  hardly  be  anticipated,  had  made  attempts  at 
reconciliation;  for,  in  her  anxiety  to  be  always  on  the 
stronger  side,  she  was  not  the  woman  to  turn  her  back  on 
the  victorious.  She  had  manoeuvred  particularly  with  the 
object  of  ingratiating  herself  with  Genevieve,  but  the  latter 
in  this  matter  had  hitherto  shared  Marc's  opinions  and 
kept  her  at  a  distance. 

'At  all  events,  monsieur,'  Mignot  concluded,  'I  advise 
you  to  keep  your  eyes  open.  If  I  had  listened  to  La  Rou- 
zaire  I  should  have  betrayed  you  a  score  of  times.  She 
never  ceased  questioning  me  about  you,  repeating  to  me 
that  I  was  a  stupid  and  would  never  succeed  in  getting  into 
a  decent  position.  .  .  .  But  you  showed  me  great  kind- 
ness, and  you  don't  know  what  horrid  things  you  saved  me 
from;  for  one  soon  listens  to  those  creatures  when  they 
promise  you  every  kind  of  success.  And,  as  I  am  on  this 
subject,  I  hope  you  will  excuse  me  if  I  venture  to  give  you 
some  advice.  You  ought  to  warn  Madame  Froment.' 

'  Warn  her  ?     What  do  you  mean  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  don't  keep  my  eyes  in  my  pockets.  For 
some  time  past  I  have  seen  La  Rouzaire  prowling  around 
your  wife.  It  is  "  dear  madame  "  here,  a  smile  or  a  caress 
there,  all  kinds  of  advances,  which  would  make  me  tremble 
if  I  were  in  your  shoes.' 

Marc,  who  felt  greatly  astonished,  made  a  pretence  of 
smiling:  '  Oh!  my  wife  has  nothing  to  fear,  she  is  warned,' 
said  he.  '  It  is  difficult  for  her  to  behave  impolitely  with 
a  neighbour,  particularly  when  one  is  connected  by  similar 
duties.' 

Mignot  did  not  insist,  but  he  shook  his  head  doubtfully, 
for  his  intercourse  with  the  Froments  had  acquainted  him 
with  the  secret  drama  which  was  slowly  gathering  in  their 
home.  However,  it  seemed  as  if  he  were  unwilling  to  say 
all  he  knew.  And  Marc,  on  his  side  also,  became  silent, 
again  mastered  by  the  covert  dread,  the  unacknowledged 


TRUTH  215 

weakness  which  assailed  and  paralysed  him  whenever  the 
possibility  of  a  struggle  between  Genevieve  and  himself 
presented  itself  to  his  mind. 

All  at  once  the  attack  of  the  Congregations,  which  he  had 
been  anticipating  ever  since  his  visit  to  Salvan,  took  place. 
The  campaign  began  with  a  virulent  report  from  Mauraisin 
on  the  subject  of  the  removal  of  the  crucifix,  and  the  scan- 
dal caused  among  the  boys'  parents  by  that  act  of  religious 
intolerance.  Savin's  protest  was  duly  recorded,  and  the 
Doloir  and  Bongard  families  were  cited  among  those  who 
blamed  the  proceeding.  The  incident  was  one  of  excep- 
tional gravity,  according  to  the  Inspector,  for  it  had  occurred 
in  a  clerical-minded  town,  reputed  for  its  frequent  and 
numerously  attended  pilgrimages — a  town  indeed  where  it 
was  necessary  for  the  secular  school  to  make  concessions 
if  it  was  to  escape  defeat  from  its  Congregational  rival. 
Mauraisin  concluded,  therefore,  in  favour  of  the  removal  of 
the  schoolmaster,  a  sectarian  of  the  worst  kind,  who  had 
thus  incautiously  compromised  the  university  cause.  And 
his  indictment  was  completed  by  the  recital  of  a  number  of 
little  facts,  the  harvest  of  all  the  daily  espionage  carried  on 
by  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  whose  docile  little  girls,  ever  at 
Mass  or  at  the  Catechism  classes,  were  contrasted  with  the 
idle,  rebellious,  unbelieving  lads  trained  by  that  anarchist 
master,  Froment. 

Three  days  later  Marc  learnt  that  Count  Hector  de  Sangle- 
bceuf,  the  Catholic  deputy,  accompanied  by  two  of  his  col- 
leagues, had  made  an  application  on  the  subject  to  Prefect 
Hennebise.  Sanglebceuf  was  evidently  acquainted  with 
Mauraisin's  report,  even  if  he  had  not  helped  to  draft  it  in 
conjunction  with  his  friend  Father  Crabot,  who  so  fre- 
quently visited  La  Degrade;  and  the  idea  undoubtedly  was 
to  take  that  report  as  a  basis  in  demanding  the  dismissal  of 
Marc. 

Hennebise,  whose  policy  was  to  live  at  peace  with  every- 
body, and  who  constantly  urged  his  subordinates  to  refrain 
from  stirring  up  trouble,  must  have  felt  very  worried  by 
the  incident,  which  might  lead  to  disastrous  complications. 
The  Prefect's  feelings  were  with  Sangleboeuf,  but  it  was 
dangerous  to  adhere  publicly  to  the  reactionary  cause;  so, 
while  sympathising  with  the  fiery  anti-Semite  deputy,  he  ex- 
plained that  he  was  not  master  of  the  situation,  for  the  law 
was  precise  and  prevented  him  from  removing  a  school- 
master unless  that  step  were  proposed  to  him  by  Academy 


2l6  TRUTH 

Inspector  Le  Barazer.  With  some  relief,  therefore,  the 
Prefect  referred  the  gentlemen  to  the  Inspector,  to  whose 
office,  which  was  also  in  the  Prefecture  buildings,  they 
immediately  repaired. 

Le  Barazer,  an  ex-professor  who  had  become  a  prudent 
diplomatist,  listened  to  them  with  a  great  show  of  attentive 
deference.  He  was  a  man  of  fifty,  with  a  broad  full- 
coloured  face,  and  as  yet  scarcely  a  grey  hair.  He  had 
grown  up  hating  the  Empire,  and  as  he  regarded  secular 
education  as  one  of  the  foundation  stones  of  the  Republic, 
he  pursued  by  all  available  means  the  task  of  crushing  the 
Congregational  schools,  whose  triumph  in  his  estimation 
would  have  killed  France.  But  experience  had  shown  him 
the  danger  of  violent  action,  and  he  adhered  to  a  long 
meditated  and  prudent  course,  which  led  some  extremists 
to  regard  him  as  a  very  lukewarm  Republican.  Yet  he  was 
associated  with  some  extraordinary  victories  achieved  by 
long  years  of  discreet  and  patient  action.  At  Sanglebceuf's 
first  words  he  made  a  show  of  disapproving  Marc's  removal 
of  the  crucifix,  which,  said  he,  was  a  useless  demonstration, 
though  he  pointed  out  that  nothing  in  the  laws  compelled 
the  schoolmasters  to  allow  religious  emblems  in  the  schools. 
It  was  all  a  mere  question  of  usage,  and  he  discreetly 
allowed  it  to  be  seen  that  this  usage  scarcely  had  his  ap- 
proval. Then,  as  Sanglebceuf,  losing  his  temper,  pro- 
claimed himself  a  defender  of  the  Church,  and  described 
the  schoolmaster  of  Maillebois  as  a  shameless  individual 
who  had  stirred  up  the  entire  population  against  him,  the 
Inspector  placidly  promised  that  he  would  study  the  question 
with  all  the  care  it  deserved. 

But  Sanglebceuf  wished  to  know  if  he  had  not  received  a 
report  from  his  subordinate,  Mauraisin;  and  whether  that 
report  did  not  suffice  to  show  the  gravity  of  the  evil,  the  de- 
moralisation, which  could  only  be  arrested  by  the  immediate 
removal  of  the  schoolmaster.  At  this  question  Le  Barazer 
feigned  great  surprise.  What  report?  Ah!  yes,  the  quar- 
terly report  from  the  Elementary  Inspector!  Were  its  con- 
tents known,  then?  In  any  case,  those  reports  were  purely 
administrative,  and  merely  supplied  certain  elements  of 
appreciation  for  the  Academy  Inspector,  whose  duty  it  was 
to  make  personal  inquiries.  And  thereupon  Le  Barazer 
dismissed  the  gentlemen,  after  again  promising  to  take  their 
application  into  full  account. 

A  month  went  by,  and  nothing  reached  Marc,  who  daily 


TRUTH  217 

expected  a  summons  to  the  Prefecture.  Le  Barazer  was 
doubtless  following  his  usual  tactics  in  order  to  gain  time 
and  exhaust  the  determination  of  the  other  side.  Even  as 
his  friend  Salvan  had  foretold,  he  was  covertly  supporting 
the  young  schoolmaster.  But  it  was  essential  that  the  affair 
should  not  be  aggravated,  that  increasing  scandal  should 
not  compel  his  intervention ;  for  assuredly  he  would  not  de- 
fend Marc  beyond  certain  limits,  but  would  end  by  sacrifi- 
cing him  if  he  thought  that  course  expedient  in  order  that 
the  rest  of  his  slow  and  opportunist  campaign  against  the 
Congregational  schools  might  not  be  interfered  with.  Un- 
fortunately, things  went  from  bad  to  worse  at  Maillebois. 
Le  Petit  Beaumontais,  yielding  to  an  inspiration  which 
could  be  easily  identified,  started  a  vile  campaign  against 
Marc.  As  usual,  it  began  with  brief  and  vague  paragraphs: 
Abominations  were  taking  place  in  a  neighbouring  little 
town,  and  if  necessary  precise  information  would  be  given. 
Then  schoolmaster  Froment  was  plainly  named,  and  under 
the  headline  'The  Scandal  of  Maillebois,'  which  was  re- 
peated almost  daily,  the  paper  published  an  extraordinary 
collection  of  tittle-tattle,  the  results  of  a  pretended  inquiry 
among  the  pupils  and  their  parents,  in  which  the  school- 
master was  accused  of  the  blackest  crimes. 

People  were  quite  upset  by  these  so-called  revelations;  the 
good  Brothers  and  the  Capuchins  helped  to  spread  terror 
abroad,  and  devotees  never  passed  the  Communal  school 
without  crossing  themselves.  Marc  became  conscious  that 
he  was  in  great  peril;  and  Mignot  bravely  began  to  pack 
up  his  belongings,  feeling  certain  that  he  would  be  swept 
away  with  his  principal,  whose  side  he  had  taken.  Mean- 
time Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  affected  the  most  victorious 
airs  when  she  conducted  her  girls  to  Mass;  Father  Th£odose 
in  his  chapel,  and  even  Cur£  Quandieu  in  his  pulpit  at  St. 
Martin's,  foretold  the  approaching  restoration  of  God  among 
the  infidels,  by  which  they  meant  that  the  crucifix  would  be 
soon  set  up  again,  with  all  solemnity,  in  the  secular  school; 
and,  as  a  last  blow,  Marc,  on  meeting  Darras,  found  him 
very  cold,  resolved  to  abandon  him,  for  fear  of  losing  the 
support  of  the  minority  of  the  Municipal  Council. 

'  What  can  you  expect,  my  dear  fellow, '  said  the  ex- 
Mayor;  'you  have  gone  too  far;  we  cannot  follow  you,  at 
present  at  all  events.  .  .  .  That  blackbeetle  Philis  is 
watching  me,  and  I  should  merely  share  your  fate,  which 
would  be  useless.' 


218  TRUTH 

In  his  despair  Marc  hastened  to  Salvan,  whom  he  re- 
garded as  the  only  faithful  supporter  remaining  to  him. 
And  he  found  him  thoughtful,  gloomy,  almost  embarrassed. 

'  Things  are  going  badly, '  said  he.  '  Le  Barazer  remains 
silent,  seemingly  anxious,  and  such  a  furious  campaign  is 
being  waged  around  him  that  I  fear  he  may  abandon  you. 
.  .  .  Perhaps  you  acted  too  hastily. ' 

Marc's  heart  was  wrung  by  a  pang  of  grief,  for  he  inter- 
preted those  last  words  as  signifying  that  even  Salvan  aban- 
doned him.  '  You,  you  as  well,  my  master!  '  he  exclaimed. 

But  Salvan,  full  of  emotion,  caught  hold  of  his  hands. 
'  No,  no,  my  lad,  you  must  not  doubt  me;  I  remain  on  your 
side  with  all  my  heart.  Only  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the 
difficulties  in  which  all  of  us  have  been  placed  by  your 
action,  simple  and  logical  though  it  was.  This  Training 
College  is  suspected,  denounced  as  a  hot-bed  of  irreligion. 
Depinvilliers  profits  by  it  to  exalt  the  services  which  the 
chaplain  of  his  Lycee  renders  to  the  cause  of  national  paci- 
fication, the  reconcilement  of  all  parties  in  the  bosom  of  the 
Church.  Even  our  Rector,  the  peaceable  Forbes,  is  full  of 
concern,  fearing  lest  his  tranquillity  should  be  destroyed. 
Le  Barazer,  no  doubt,  is  skilful,  but  does  he  possess  the 
necessary  strength  of  resistance?  ' 

'  What  is  to  be  done,  then?  ' 

'  Nothing:  one  must  wait.  I  can  only  repeat  to  you  that 
you  must  show  yourself  prudent  and  courageous.  For  the 
rest  we  must  rely  on  the  force  of  truth  and  justice.' 

During  the  next  two  months  Marc  displayed  much  brave 
serenity  amid  the  outrages  by  which  he  was  assailed  each 
day.  As  if  ignorant  of  the  muddy  tide  beating  against  his 
door,  he  pursued  his  duties  with  wondrous  gaiety  and  up- 
rightness. Never  had  he  accomplished  more  important  or 
more  useful  work,  devoting  himself  to  his  pupils,  and  teach- 
ing them,  as  much  by  example  as  by  words,  how  necessary 
it  was  to  continue  working  and  to  retain  one's  love  for 
truth  and  justice  amid  the  very  worst  events.  To  the  filth, 
the  bitter  insults  flung  at  him  by  his  fellow  townsmen,  he 
replied  with  gentleness,  kindliness,  and  sacrifice.  He  strove 
to  make  the  children  better  than  their  fathers,  he  sowed  the 
happy  future  in  the  furrows  of  the  hateful  present,  he  re- 
deemed the  crime  of  others  at  the  cost  of  his  own  happiness. 
It  was  the  thought  of  the  young  ones  around  him,  the  duty 
of  helping  to  save  them  a  little  more  each  day  from  error  and 
falsehood,  that  lent  him  so  much  calmness  and  enabled  him 


TRUTH  219 

to  await  the  blow  he  expected  with  a  quiet  smile,  like  one 
who,  every  evening,  felt  well  satisfied  with  the  work  accom- 
plished during  the  day. 

At  last,  one  morning,  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  announced 
that  the  revocation  of  '  the  ignoble  poisoner  of  Maillebois ' 
was  signed.  On  the  previous  day  Marc  had  heard  of  a 
fresh  visit  which  the  Count  de  Sanglebceuf  had  paid  to  the 
Prefecture,  and  he  ceased  to  hope;  his  ruin  was  about  to 
be  consummated.  The  evening  proved  a  very  trying  one. 
Whenever  he  quitted  his  classroom,  and  his  boys,  with  their 
smiling  faces  and  their  fair  and  their  dark  little  pates,  were 
no  longer  near  to  remind  him  of  the  good  time  coming,  he 
sank  into  sadness,  and  only  after  a  struggle  recovered  the 
courage  which  he  needed  for  the  morrow.  And  so  that 
particular  evening  proved  particularly  bitter.  He  thought 
of  his  work,  destined  to  be  so  brutally  interrupted — of  those 
dearly-loved  boys,  whom  he  had  taught  perhaps  for  the  last 
time,  and  whom  he  would  not  be  allowed  to  save.  They 
would  be  taken  from  him,  handed  over  to  some  deformer  of 
intellect  and  character,  and  it  was  the  wreck  of  his  ministry 
that  made  his  heart  bleed.  He  went  to  bed  in  such  a 
gloomy  mood  that  Genevieve  gently,  silently,  cast  her  arms 
about  him,  as  she  still  did  occasionally  from  an  impulse  of 
wifely  affection. 

'  You  are  worried,  are  you  not,  my  poor  darling? '  she 
whispered. 

He  did  not  answer  immediately.  He  knew  that  she 
shared  his  views  less  than  ever,  and  he  always  avoided 
painful  explanations  in  spite  of  his  secret  remorse  at  allow- 
ing her  to  drift  away  from  him  without  attempting  an  effort 
to  make  her  wholly  his  own.  Indeed,  if  he  himself  had 
again  ceased  to  call  on  her  mother  and  grandmother,  he 
lacked  the  courage  to  forbid  her  visits  to  that  icy  little 
house,  though  he  well  divined  that  their  happiness  was 
greatly  endangered  there.  Each  time  that  Genevieve  re- 
turned from  the  Place  des  Capucins  he  felt  that  she  be- 
longed to  him  a  little  less  than  before.  Recently,  while  the 
whole  clerical  pack  was  barking  at  his  heels,  he  had  learnt 
that  the  ladies  had  denied  him  on  every  side,  blushing  for 
their  connection  as  if  it  were  some  unmerited  shame  that 
soiled  their  family. 

'  Why  don't  you  answer  me,  dear? '  Genevieve  began 
again.  '  Don't  you  think  that  I  share  your  sorrow? ' 

He  felt  touched,  and,  returning  her  embrace,  replied: 


220  TRUTH 

'  Yes,  I  am  grieved.  But  it  is  about  matters  in  which  you 
do  not  feel  as  I  do,  and,  as  I  don't  wish  to  reproach  you, 
what  is  the  use  of  confiding  them  to  you?  Still  I  may  say 
I  fear  that  in  a  few  days  we  shall  be  here  no  longer. ' 

'  How  is  that  ? ' 

'  Oh !  I  shall  certainly  be  sent  elsewhere  if  I  am  not  dis- 
missed altogether.  It  is  all  over  .  .  .  and  we  shall 
have  to  go  away,  I  know  not  whither.* 

She  raised  a  cry  of  delight:  '  Oh,  my  dear!  so  much  the 
better!  That  is  the  best  thing  that  can  happen  to  us.' 

He  felt  astonished,  for  her  meaning  at  first  escaped  him. 
And  when  he  questioned  her  she  seemed  somewhat  embar- 
rassed, and  endeavoured  to  recall  her  words:  'Oh,  I  say 
that  because,  of  course,  it  would  be  all  the  same  to  me  if  I 
did  have  to  go  away  with  you  and  our  Louise.  One  may 
be  happy  anywhere.'  But  when  he  pressed  her  she  added: 
'  Besides,  if  we  went  elsewhere  we  should  no  longer  be  wor- 
ried by  all  the  horrid  things  which  go  on  here,  and  which 
might  end  by  making  us  quarrel.  I  should  be  so  happy  if 
we  could  be  alone  in  some  little  nook  where  nobody  would 
come  between  us,  where  nothing  from  outside  would  try  to 
separate  us.  Oh!  let  us  go  away  to-morrow,  dear! ' 

Several  times  already,  in  moments  of  affectionate  self- 
abandonment,  Marc  had  noticed  in  his  wife  that  same  dread 
of  rupture,  that  desire,  that  need  to  remain  wholly  his.  It 
was  as  if  she  said  to  him :  '  Keep  me  on  your  heart,  carry 
me  away,  so  that  none  may  tear  me  from  your  arms.  I 
feel  that  I  am  being  parted  from  you  a  little  more  each  day, 
I  shiver  with  the  great  chill  which  comes  over  me  when  I 
am  no  longer  in  your  embrace.'  And,  with  his  dread  of  the 
inevitable,  nothing  could  have  upset  him  more. 

1  Go  away,  my  love? '  he  answered;  '  it  is  not  enough  to 
go  away.  But  what  joy  you  give  me,  and  how  grateful  I 
feel  to  you  for  comforting  me  like  that! ' 

Several  more  days  elapsed  and  still  the  terrible  letter  ex- 
pected from  the  Prefecture  did  not  arrive.  No  doubt  this 
was  due  to  the  fact  that  a  fresh  incident  began  to  impassion 
the  district  and  divert  public  attention  from  the  secular 
school  of  Maillebois.  For  some  time  past  Abbe"  Cognasse  of 
Jonville,  whose  triumph  was  complete,  had  been  meditating 
a  great  stroke,  striving  to  induce  Mayor  Martineau  to  allow 
the  parish  to  be  consecrated  to  the  Sacred  Heart  of  Jesus. 
In  all  likelihood  the  idea  had  not  come  from  the  Abbe"  him- 
self for  every  Thursday  morning  during  the  previous  month 


TRUTti  221 

he  had  been  seen  going  to  the  College  of  Valmarie,  where  he 
had  long  conferences  with  Father  Crabot.  And  a  remark 
made  by  F£rou,  the  schoolmaster  at  Le  Moreux,  was  circu- 
lating, filling  some  folk  with  indignation  and  amusing  others. 

'  If  those  dirty  Jesuits  bring  their  bullock's  heart  here,  I 
will  spit  in  their  faces, '  he  had  said. 

Henceforth  the  worship  of  the  Sacred  Heart  was  absorb- 
ing the  whole  Christian  faith,  developing  into  a  new  Incar- 
nation, a  new  Catholicism.  The  sickly  vision  of  a  poor 
creature  stricken  with  hysteria — the  sad  and  ardent  Marie 
Alacoque — that  real,  gory  heart  half  wrenched  from  an  open 
bosom,  was  becoming  the  symbol  of  a  baser  faith,  degraded, 
lowered  to  supply  a  need  of  carnal  satisfaction.  The  ancient 
and  pure  worship  of  an  immaterial  Jesus,  who  had  risen  on 
high  to  join  the  Father,  seemed  to  have  become  too  delicate 
for  modern  souls  lusting  for  terrestrial  enjoyment;  and  it 
had  been  resolved  to  serve  the  very  flesh  of  Jesus,  His  heart 
of  flesh,  to  devotees,  by  way  of  daily  sustenance,  such  as 
superstition  and  brutishness  required.  It  was  like  a  pre- 
meditated onslaught  on  human  reason,  an  intentional  degra- 
dation of  the  religion  of  former  times  in  order  that  the  mass 
of  believers,  bowed  beneath  the  weight  of  falsehood,  might 
become  yet  more  stupefied  and  more  servile.  With  the  re- 
ligion of  the  Sacred  Heart  only  tribes  of  idolaters  were  left, 
fetichists  who  adored  offal  from  a  slaughter-house,  and  car- 
ried it,  banner-wise,  on  a  pike-head.  And  all  the  genius  of 
the  Jesuits  was  found  therein — the  humanisation  of  religion, 
God  coming  to  man  since  centuries  of  effort  had  failed  to 
lead  man  to  God.  It  was  necessary  to  give  the  ignorant 
multitude  the  only  deity  it  understood,  one  made  in  its  own 
image,  gory  and  dolorous  like  itself,  an  idol  of  violent  hues, 
whose  brutish  materiality  would  complete  the  transformation 
of  the  faithful  into  a  herd  of  fat  beasts,  fit  for  slaughter. 
All  conquests  effected  on  reason  are  conquests  effected  on 
liberty,  and  it  had  become  necessary  to  reduce  France  to 
that  savage  worship  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  fit  for  the  aborigines 
of  some  undiscovered  continent,  in  order  to  hold  it  in  sub- 
mission beneath  the  imbecility  of  the  Church's  dogmas. 

The  first  attempts  had  been  made  on  the  very  morrow  of 
the  great  defeats,  amid  the  grief  arising  from  the  loss  of  the 
two  provinces.  Then  already  the  Church  had  availed  herself 
of  the  public  confusion  to  endeavour  to  consecrate  France 
to  the  Sacred  Heart — France,  which  after  being  chastised  so 
heavily  by  the  hand  of  God,  repented  of  her  sins.  And  at 


222  TRUTH 

last,  on  the  highest  summit  of  that  great  revolutionary  city 
of  Paris,  the  Church  had  reared  that  Sacred  Heart,  palpi- 
tating and  gory  red  like  the  hearts  which  one  sees  hanging 
from  hooks  in  butchers'  shops.  From  that  summit  it  bled 
over  the  entire  land,  to  the  farthest  depths  of  the  country 
districts.  And  if  at  Montmartre  it  kindled  the  adoration 
of  the  gentility,  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  belonging  to  the 
administrative  services,  the  magistracy  and  the  army,  with 
what  emotion  must  it  not  infect  the  simple,  the  ignorant, 
and  the  devout  of  the  villages  and  hamlets!  It  became  the 
national  emblem  of  repentance,  of  the  country's  self-relin- 
quishment  in  the  hands  of  the  Church.  It  was  embroidered 
in  the  centre  of  the  tricolor  flag,  whose  three  colours  became 
mere  symbols  of  the  azure  of  heaven,  the  lilies  of  the  Virgin, 
and  the  blood  of  the  martyrs.  And  huge,  swollen,  and 
streaming  with  gore,  it  hung  thus  like  the  new  Deity  of  de- 
generate Catholicism,  offered  to  the  base  superstition  of  en- 
slaved France. 

At  first  it  had  been  Father  Crabot's  idea  to  triumph  at 
Maillebois,  the  chief  place  in  the  canton,  by  consecrating 
that  little  town  to  the  Sacred  Heart.  But  he  had  become 
anxious,  for  at  Maillebois  there  was  a  manufacturing  suburb 
inhabited  by  some  hundreds  of  working  men  who  were  be- 
ginning to  send  Socialist  representatives  to  the  Municipal 
Council.  Thus,  in  spite  of  the  Brothers  and  the  Capuchins, 
he  had  feared  some  sensational  repulse.  All  considered,  it 
was  better  to  act  at  Jonville,  where  the  ground  appeared 
well  prepared.  If  successful  there,  one  might  always  repeat 
the  experiment  on  a  larger  stage,  some  other  time. 

Abb£  Cognasse  now  reigned  at  Jonville,  which  school- 
master Jauffre  had  gradually  handed  over  to  him.  Jauffre's 
guiding  principle  was  a  very  simple  one.  As  Clericalism 
was  sweeping  through  the  region,  why  should  he  not  allow 
it  to  waft  him  to  the  headmastership  of  some  important 
school  at  Beaumont?  Thus,  after  prompting  his  wife  to 
make  advances  to  the  parish  priest,  he  himself  had  openly 
gone  over  to  the  Church,  ringing  the  bell,  chanting  at  the 
offices,  taking  his  pupils  to  Mass  every  Sunday.  Mayor 
Martineau,  who,  following  Marc,  had  been  an  anti-clerical 
in  former  times,  was  at  first  upset  by  the  new  schoolmaster's 
doings.  But  what  could  he  say  to  a  man  who  was  so  well 
off  and  who  explained  so  plausibly  that  it  was  wrong  to  be 
against  the  priests?  Thus  Martineau  was  shaken  in  his  ideas 
and  allowed  the  other  to  follow  his  course,  till,  at  last, 


TRUTH  223 

prompted  thereto  by  the  beautiful  Madame  Martineau,  he 
himself  declared  to  the  parish  council  that  it  was  best  to  live 
in  agreement  with  the  cure".  After  that,  a  year  sufficed  for 
Abbe"  Cognasse  to  become  the  absolute  master  of  the  parish, 
his  influence  no  longer  being  counterbalanced  by  that  of  the 
schoolmaster,  who,  indeed,  willingly  walked  behind  him, 
confident  that  he  would  derive  a  handsome  profit  from  his 
submissiveness. 

Nevertheless,  when  the  idea  of  consecrating  Jonville  to 
the  Sacred  Heart  was  propounded,  some  dismay  and  re- 
sistance arose.  Nobody  knew  whence  that  idea  had  come, 
nobody  could  have  said  by  whom  it  had  been  first  mooted. 
However,  Abbe"  Cognasse,  with  his  eager  militant  nature, 
immediately  made  it  his  business  in  the  hope  of  gaining 
great  personal  glory  should  he  be  the  first  priest  of  the 
region  to  win  an  entire  parish  over  to  God.  He  made  such 
a  stir,  indeed,  that  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  in  despair  at  the 
threat  of  a  new  superstition,  and  grieved  by  its  base  idolatry, 
summoned  him  to  Beaumont,  where,  however,  after  a  scene 
which  proved,  it  was  rumoured,  both  terrible  and  pathetic, 
the  Bishop  once  again  was  compelled  to  give  way.  But,  on 
two  occasions,  the  parish  council  of  Jonville  held  tumultu- 
ous meetings,  several  members  angrily  desiring  to  know 
what  profit  they  would  all  derive  from  the  consecration  of 
the  parish  to  the  Sacred  Heart.  For  a  moment  it  seemed 
as  if  the  affair  were  condemned  and  buried.  But  Jauffre 
also  made  a  trip  to  Beaumont,  and,  though  nobody  guessed 
exactly  what  personage  he  saw  there,  he  no  sooner  came 
back  than,  in  a  gentle,  insidious  manner,  he  resumed  the 
negotiations  with  the  parish  council. 

The  question  was  what  the  parish  would  gain  by  conse- 
crating itself  to  the  Sacred  Heart.  Well,  first  of  all,  several 
ladies  of  Beaumont  promised  presents  to  the  church,  a  silver 
chalice,  an  altar  cloth,  some  flower  vases,  and  a  big  statue 
of  the  Saviour,  with  a  huge,  flaming,  bleeding  heart  painted 
on  it.  Then,  too,  said  Jauffre,  there  was  talk  of  giving  a 
dowry  of  five  hundred  francs  to  the  most  deserving  Maiden 
of  the  Virgin  when  she  married.  But  the  council  seemed  to 
be  most  impressed  by  the  promise  of  setting  up  a  branch 
establishment  of  the  Order  of  the  Good  Shepherd,  where 
two  hundred  girls  would  work  at  fine  linen,  chemises,  petti- 
coats, and  knickers,  for  some  of  the  great  Parisian  shops. 
The  peasants  at  once  pictured  all  their  daughters  working 
for  the  good  Sisters,  and  speculated  on  the  large  amount  of 


224  TRUTH 

money  which  such  an  establishment  would  probably  bring 
into  the  district. 

At  last  it  was  decided  that  the  ceremony  should  take 
place  on  June  10  (a  Sunday),  and,  as  Abb£  Cognasse 
pointed  out,  never  was  festival  favoured  by  brighter  sun- 
shine. For  three  days  his  servant,  the  terrible  Palmyre, 
with  the  help  of  Madame  Jauffre  and  the  beautiful  Madame 
Martineau,  had  been  decorating  the  church  with  evergreens 
and  hangings,  lent  by  the  inhabitants.  The  ladies  of  Beau- 
mont, Pr^sidente  Gragnon,  Generate  Jarousse,  Prefete 
Hennebise — and  even,  so  it  was  said,  Madame  Lemarrois, 
the  wife  of  the  radical  mayor  and  deputy, — had  presented 
the  parish  with  a  superb  tricolor  flag  on  which  the  Sacred 
Heart  was  embroidered,  with  the  motto:  'God  and  Country.' 
And  Jauffre  himself  was  to  carry  that  flag,  walking  on  the 
right  hand  of  the  Mayor  of  Jonville.  An  extraordinary 
concourse  of  important  personages  arrived  during  the  morn- 
ing: many  notabilities  of  Beaumont,  with  the  ladies  who 
had  presented  the  flag;  Philis,  the  Mayor  of  Maillebois, 
with  the  clerical  majority  of  his  council,  as  well  as  a  shoal 
of  cassocks  and  frocks;  a  grand- vicar,  delegated  by  Mon- 
seigneur  the  Bishop,  Father  Th6odose  and  other  Capuchins, 
Brother  Fulgence  and  his  assistant  Brothers,  Father  Philibin 
and  even  Father  Crabot,  both  of  whom  were  surrounded 
and  saluted  with  the  greatest  deference.  But  people  noticed 
the  absence  of  Abb?  Quandieu,  who,  according  to  his  own 
account,  had  been  laid  up  by  a  violent  attack  of  gout  at  the 
last  moment. 

At  three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon  a  band  of  music,  which 
had  come  from  the  chief  town,  struck  up  an  heroic  march 
on  the  Place  de  1'Eglise.  Then  appeared  the  parish  coun- 
cillors, all  wearing  their  scarves,  and  headed  by  Mayor 
Martineau  and  schoolmaster  Jauffre,  the  latter  of  whom 
grasped  the  staff  of  his  flag  with  both  hands.  A  halt  en- 
sued until  the  band  had  finished  playing.  A  dense  crowd 
of  peasant  families  in  their  Sunday  best,  and  ladies  in  full 
dress,  had  gathered  round,  waiting.  Then,  all  at  once,  the 
principal  door  of  the  church  was  thrown  wide  open,  and 
Cur£  Cognasse  appeared  in  rich  sacerdotal  vestments,  fol- 
lowed by  numerous  members  of  the  clergy,  the  many  priests 
who  had  hastened  to  Jonville  from  surrounding  spots. 
Chants  arose,  and  all  the  people  prostrated  themselves  de- 
voutly during  the  solemn  blessing  of  the  flag.  The  pathetic 
moment  came  when  Mayor  Martineau  and  the  members  of 


TRUTH  225 

the  council  knelt  beneath  the  folds  of  the  symbolic  standard, 
which  Jauffre  held  slantwise  above  them  in  order  that  one 
might  the  better  see  the  gory  heart  embroidered  amid  the 
three  colours.  And  then  in  a  loud  voice  the  Mayor  read 
the  deed  officially  consecrating  the  parish  of  Jonville  to  that 
heart. 

Women  wept  and  men  applauded.  A  gust  of  blissful  in- 
sanity arose  into  the  clear  sunlight,  above  the  blare  of  the 
brass  instruments  and  the  beating  of  the  drums  which  had 
again  struck  up  a  triumphal  march.  And  the  procession 
entered  the  church,  the  clergy,  the  Mayor,  and  the  council, 
still  and  ever  attended  by  the  schoolmaster  and  the  flag. 
Then  came  the  benediction  of  the  Holy  Sacrament;  the 
monstrance  glittering  like  a  great  star  on  the  altar,  amid  all 
the  lighted  candles,  while  the  municipality  again  knelt  down 
most  devoutly.  And  afterwards  Abbe"  Cognasse  began  to 
speak  with  fiery  eloquence,  exulting  at  the  sight  of  the  re- 
presentatives of  civil  authority  sheltering  themselves  beneath 
the  banner  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  prostrating  themselves  be- 
fore the  Holy  Sacrament,  abdicating  all  pride  and  rebellion 
in  the  hands  of  the  Deity,  relying  on  Him  alone  to  govern 
and  save  France.  Did  not  this  signify  the  end  of  impiety, 
the  Church  mistress  of  men's  souls  and  bodies,  sole  repre- 
sentative of  power  and  authority  on  earth?  Ah!  she  would 
not  long  delay  to  restore  happiness  to  her  well-beloved  eldest 
Daughter,  who  at  last  repented  of  her  errors,  submitted,  and 
sought  nothing  but  salvation.  Every  parish  would  end  by 
following  the  example  of  Jonville,  the  whole  country  would 
give  itself  to  the  Sacred  Heart,  France  would  recover  her 
empire  over  the  world  by  the  worship  of  the  national  flag 
now  transformed  into  the  flag  of  Jesus!  Cries  of  ecstatic 
intoxication  burst  forth,  and  the  splendid  ceremony  came  to 
an  end  in  the  sacristy,  whither  the  council,  headed  by  the 
Mayor,  repaired  to  sign  the  deed  on  parchment  which  set 
forth  that  the  whole  parish  of  Jonville  had  for  ever  conse- 
crated itself  to  the  Divine  Heart,  the  civil  power  piously 
renouncing  its  claims  in  favour  of  the  religious  power. 

But  when  the  party  quitted  the  church  a  scandalous  scene 
occurred.  Among  the  crowd  was  Fe>ou,  the  schoolmaster 
at  Le  Moreux,  clad  in  a  wretched,  tattered  frock  coat  and 
looking  more  emaciated,  more  ardent  than  ever.  He  had 
sunk  to  the  worst  tortures  of  indebtedness,  he  was  pursued 
for  francs  and  half  francs  which  he  had  borrowed,  for  he 
could  no  longer  obtain  on  credit  the  six  pounds  of  bread 


226  TRUTH 

which  he  needed  daily  to  feed  his  exhausted  wife  and  his 
three  lean  and  ailing  daughters.  Even  before  it  was  due, 
his  paltry  salary  of  a  hundred  francs  a  month  disappeared 
in  that  ever-widening  gulf,  and  the  little  sum  which  he  re- 
ceived as  parish  clerk  was  constantly  being  attached  by 
creditors.  His  growing  and  incurable  misery  had  increased 
the  contempt  of  the  peasants  who  were  all  at  their  ease,  and 
who  looked  askance  at  knowledge  as  it  did  not  even  feed 
the  master  appointed  to  teach  it.  And  Fe>ou,  the  only 
man  of  intelligence  and  culture  in  that  abode  of  dense 
ignorance,  grew  more  and  more  exasperated  at  the  thought 
that  he,  the  man  who  knew,  should  be  the  poor  one,  whereas 
the  ignorant  were  rich.  Feverish  rebellion  against  such 
social  iniquity  came  upon  him,  he  was  maddened  by  the 
sufferings  of  those  who  were  dear  to  him,  and  dreamt  of 
destroying  this  abominable  world  by  violence. 

As  he  stood  there  he  caught  sight  of  Saleur,  the  Mayor 
of  Le  Moreux,  who,  wishing  to  make  himself  agreeable  to 
the  triumphant  Abb£  Cognasse,  had  come  over  to  Jonville, 
arrayed  in  a  fine  new  frock  coat.  Peace  now  reigned 
between  his  parish  and  the  priest,  though  the  latter  still 
grumbled  at  having  to  walk  several  miles  to  say  Mass  for 
people  who  might  very  well  have  kept  a  priest  of  their  own. 
However,  all  the  esteem  which  had  departed  from  the  thin, 
ghastly,  ill-paid,  penniless,  and  deeply  indebted  schoolmaster 
had  now  gone  to  the  sturdy  and  flourishing  priest  who  was  so 
much  better  off,  and  who  turned  every  baptism,  wedding,  and 
burial  into  so  much  money.  Beaten,  as  was  only  natural,  in 
that  unequal  duel,  Ferou  was  no  longer  able  to  control  his  rage. 

'  Well,  Monsieur  Saleur,'  he  exclaimed,  '  here  's  a  carnival 
and  no  mistake!  Are  n't  you  ashamed  to  lend  yourself  to 
such  ignominy? ' 

Though  Saleur  was  not  at  heart  with  the  priests,  this  re- 
mark vexed  him.  He  construed  it  as  an  attack  upon  his 
own  bourgeois  position  as  an  enriched  grazier,  living  on 
his  income  in  a  pretty  house,  repainted  and  decorated  at  his 
own  expense.  So  he  sought  for  dignified  words  of  repri- 
mand: 'You  would  do  better  to  keep  quiet,  Monsieur 
Fe"rou.  The  shame  belongs  to  those  who  can't  even  suc- 
ceed sufficiently  to  lead  respectable  lives.' 

Irritated  by  this  rejoinder,  which  smacked  of  the  low 
standard  of  morality  that  brought  him  so  much  suffering, 
Ferou  was  about  to  reply  when  his  anger  was  diverted  by 
the  sight  of  Jauffre. 


TRUTH  227 

'Ah!  colleague,'  said  he,  'so  it  's  you  who  carry  their 
banner  of  falsehood  and  imbecility!  That  's  a  fine  action 
for  an  educator  of  the  lowly  and  humble  ones  of  our  de- 
mocracy! You  know  very  well  that  the  priest's  gain  is  the 
schoolmaster's  loss.' 

Jauffre,  like  a  man  who  had  an  income  of  his  own,  and 
who,  moreover,  was  well  pleased  with  what  he  had  done, 
replied  with  compassionate  yet  crushing  contempt :  '  Before 
judging  others,  my  poor  comrade,  you  would  do  well  to 
provide  your  daughters  with  shifts  to  hide  their  nakedness! ' 

At  this  F£rou  lost  all  self-control.  With  his  unkempt 
hair  bristling  on  his  head,  and  a  savage  gleam  in  his  wild 
eyes,  he  waved  his  long  arms  and  cried:  'You  gang  of 
bigots!  you  pack  of  Jesuits!  Carry  your  bullock's  heart 
about,  worship  it,  eat  it  raw,  and  become,  if  you  can,  even 
more  bestial  and  imbecile  than  you  are  already !  ' 

A  crowd  gathered  around  the  blasphemer,  hoots  and 
threats  arose,  and  things  would  have  turned  out  badly  for 
him  if  Saleur,  like  a  prudent  Mayor,  alarmed  for  the  good 
name  of  his  commune,  had  not  extricated  him  from  the 
hostile  throng  and  led  him  away  by  the  arm. 

On  the  morrow  the  incident  was  greatly  exaggerated;  on 
all  sides  people  talked  of  execrable  sacrilege.  Indeed,  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  related  that  the  schoolmaster  of  Le 
Moreux  had  spat  on  the  national  flag  of  the  Sacred  Heart 
at  the  very  moment  when  worthy  Abbe  Cognasse  was  bless- 
ing that  divine  emblem  of  repentant  and  rescued  France. 
And  in  its  ensuing  number  it  announced  that  the  revocation 
of  schoolmaster  Fe"rou  was  a  certainty.  If  that  were  so, 
the  consequences  would  be  serious,  for  as  Ferou  had  not 
completed  his  term  of  ten  years'  duty  as  a  teacher  he  would 
have  to  perform  some  years'  military  service.  And,  again, 
while  he  was  in  barracks,  what  would  become  of  his  wife 
and  daughters,  those  woeful  creatures  for  whom  he  was 
already  unable  to  provide?  He  gone,  would  they  not  utterly 
starve  to  death? 

When  Marc  heard  of  what  had  happened  he  went  to  see 
Salvan  at  Beaumont.  This  time  the  newspaper's  informa- 
tion was  correct,  the  revocation  of  Fe'rou  was  about  to  be 
signed,  Le  Barazer  was  resolved  on  it.  And  as  Marc  never- 
theless begged  his  old  friend  to  attempt  some  intervention, 
the  other  sadly  refused  to  do  so. 

4  No,  no,  it  would  be  useless,'  he  said;  '  I  should  simply 
encounter  inflexible  determination.  Le  Barazer  cannot  act 


228  TRUTH 

otherwise;  at  least,  such  is  his  conviction.  Opportunist  as 
he  is,  he  finds  in  that  course  a  means  of  ridding  himself  of 
the  other  difficulties  of  the  present  time.  .  .  .  And 
you  must  not  complain  too  much ;  for  if  his  severity  falls  on 
F6rou  it  is  in  order  that  he  may  spare  you.' 

At  this  Marc  burst  into  protest,  saying  how  much  he  was 
upset  and  grieved  by  such  a  denouement. 

'  But  you  are  not  responsible,  my  dear  fellow,'  Salvan 
replied.  '  He  is  casting  that  prey  to  the  clericals  because 
they  require  one,  and  because  he  thus  hopes  to  save  a  good 
workman  like  yourself.  It  is  a  very  distingue'e  solution,  as 
somebody  said  to  me  yesterday.  .  .  .  Ah!  how  many 
tears  and  how  much  blood  must  necessarily  flow  for  the 
slightest  progress  to  be  accomplished,  how  many  poor 
corpses  must  fill  up  the  ditches  in  order  that  the  heroes 
may  pass  on ! ' 

Salvan's  forecast  was  fulfilled  to  the  very  letter.  Two 
days  afterwards  F£rou  was  dismissed,  and,  rather  than  re- 
sign himself  to  military  service,  he  fled  to  Belgium,  full  of 
exasperation  at  the  thought  that  justice  should  be  denied 
him.  He  hoped  to  find  some  petty  situation  at  Brussels, 
which  would  enable  him  to  send  for  his  wife  and  children, 
and  make  himself  a  new  home  abroad.  He  even  ended  by 
declaring  that  he  felt  relieved  at  having  escaped  from  the 
university  galleys,  and  that  he  now  breathed  freely,  like  a 
man  who  was  at  last  at  liberty  to  think  and  act  as  he 
listed. 

Meantime  his  wife  installed  herself  with  her  three  little 
girls  in  two  small,  sordid  rooms  at  Maillebois,  where,  with 
all  bravery,  she  at  once  began  to  ply  her  needle  as  a  seam- 
stress, though  she  found  herself  unable  to  earn  enough  for 
daily  bread.  Marc  visited  her  and  helped  her  as  far  as  he 
could,  feeling  quite  heartbroken  at  the  sight  of  her  pitiable 
wretchedness.  And  a  remorseful  feeling  clung  to  him,  for 
the  affair  of  the  crucifix  appeared  to  be  forgotten  amid  the 
keen  emotion  roused  by  the  sacrilege  of  Jonville  and  the 
revocation  which  had  followed  it.  Le  Petit  Beaumontais 
triumphed  noisily,  and  the  Count  de  Sanglebceuf  prome- 
naded the  town  with  victorious  airs  as  if  his  friends,  the 
Brothers,  the  Capuchins,  and  the  Jesuits,  had  now  become 
the  absolute  masters  of  the  department.  And  then  life  fol- 
lowed its  course,  pending  the  time  when  the  struggle  would 
begin  again,  on  another  field. 

One  Sunday  Marc  was  surprised  to  see  his  wife  come  home 


TRUTH  229 

carrying  a  Mass-book.  'What!  have  you  been  to  church  ?' 
he  asked  her. 

'  Yes,'  she  answered,'  I  have  just  taken  the  Communion.* 

He  looked  at  her,  turning  pale  the  while,  penetrated  by 
a  sudden  chill,  a  quiver,  which  he  strove  to  hide.  '  You  do 
that  now,  and  you  did  not  tell  me  of  it  ?  '  said  he. 

On  her  side  she  feigned  astonishment,  though,  according 
to  her  wont,  she  remained  very  calm  and  gentle :  '  Tell  you 
of  it — why  ?  '  she  asked.  '  It  is  a  matter  of  conscience.  I 
leave  you  free  to  act  according  to  your  views,  so  I  suppose 
I  may  act  according  to  mine.' 

'  No  doubt ;  all  the  same,  for  the  sake  of  a  good  under- 
standing between  us,  I  should  have  liked  to  have  known. ' 

'  Well,  you  know  now.  I  do  not  hide  it,  as  you  may  see. 
But  we  shall,  none  the  less,  remain  good  friends,  I  hope.' 

She  added  nothing  more,  and  he  lacked  the  strength  to 
tell  her  of  all  that  he  felt  seething  within  him,  to  provoke 
the  explanation  which  he  knew  to  be  imperative.  But  the 
day  remained  heavy  with  silence.  This  time  some  connect- 
ing link  had  certainly  snapped  and  sundered  them. 


Ill 

SOME  months  elapsed,  and  day  by  day  Marc  found  him- 
self confronted  by  the  redoubtable  question:  Why 
had  he  married  a  woman  whose  belief  was  contrary 
to  his  own  ?  Did  not  he  and  Genevieve  belong  to  two 
hostile  spheres,  divided  by  an  abyss,  and  would  not  their 
disagreement  bring  them  the  most  frightful  torture  ?  Some 
scientists  were  suggesting  that  when  people  desired  to  marry 
they  should  undergo  proper  examination,  and  provide  them- 
selves with  certificates  setting  forth  that  they  were  free  from 
all  physical  flaws.  The  young  man  for  his  part  felt  con- 
vinced that  all  such  certificates  ought  also  to  state  that  the 
holder's  heart  and  mind  were  free  from  every  form  of  in- 
herited or  acquired  imbecility.  Two  beings,  ignorant  one 
of  the  other,  coming  from  different  worlds,  as  it  were,  with 
contradictory  and  hostile  notions,  could  only  torture  and 
destroy  each  other.  And  yet  how  great  an  excuse  was,  at 
the  outset,  furnished  by  the  imperious  blindness  of  love, 
and  how  difficult  it  was  to  solve  the  question  in  some  part- 
icular cases,  which  were  often  those  instinct  with  most 
charm  and  tenderness! 

Marc  did  not  yet  accuse  Genevieve — he  merely  dreaded 
lest  she  should  become  a  deadly  weapon  in  the  hands  of 
those  priests  and  monks  against  whom  he  was  waging  war. 
As  the  Church  had  failed  to  strike  him  down  by  intriguing 
with  his  superiors,  it  must  now  be  thinking  of  dealing  him 
a  blow  in  the  heart  by  destroying  his  domestic  happiness. 
That  was  essentially  the  device  of  the  Jesuits,  the  everlast- 
ing manoeuvre  of  the  father-confessor,  who  helps  on  the 
work  of  Catholic  domination  in  stealthy  fashion,  like  a 
worldly  psychologist  well  acquainted  with  the  passions  and 
the  means  they  offer  for  triumphing  over  the  human  beast, 
who,  fondled  and  satiated,  may  then  be  strangled.  To  glide 
into  a  home,  to  set  oneself  between  husband  and  wife,  to 
capture  the  latter  and  thereby  destroy  the  man  whom  the 
Church  wishes  to  get  rid  of,  no  easier  and  more  widely 

230 


TRUTH  231 

adopted  stratagem  than  this  is  known  to  the  black  whisperers 
of  the  confessional. 

The  Church,  having  taken  possession  of  woman,  has  used 
her  as  its  most  powerful  weapon  of  propaganda  and  enthral- 
ment.  At  the  first  moment  an  obstacle  certainly  arose. 
Was  not  woman  all  shame  and  perdition,  a  creature  of  sin, 
and  terror,  before  whom  the  very  saints  trembled  ?  Vile 
nature  had  set  its  trap  in  her,  she  was  the  source  of  life,  she 
was  life  itself,  the  contempt  of  which  was  taught  by  the 
Church.  And  so  for  a  moment  the  latter  denied  a  soul  to 
woman,  the  creature  from  whom  men  of  purity  fled  to  the 
desert,  in  danger  of  succumbing  if  the  evening  breeze  wafted 
to  them  merely  the  odour  of  her  hair.  Beauty  and  passion 
being  cast  out  of  the  religious  system,  she  became  the  mere 
embodiment  of  all  that  was  condemned,  all  that  was  regarded 
as  diabolical,  denounced  as  the  craft  of  Satan,  all  against 
which  prayer,  mortification,  and  strict  and  perpetual  chastity 
were  enjoined.  And  in  the  desire  to  crush  sexuality  in 
woman,  the  ideal  woman  was  shown  sexless,  and  a  virgin 
was  enthroned  as  queen  of  heaven. 

But  the  Church  ended  by  understanding  the  irresistible 
sexual  power  of  woman  over  man,  and  in  spite  of  its  repug- 
nance, in  spite  of  its  terror,  decided  to  employ  it  as  a  means 
to  conquer  and  enchain  man.  That  great  flock  of  women, 
weakened  by  an  abasing  system  of  education,  terrorised  by 
the  fear  of  hell,  degraded  to  the  status  of  serfs  by  the  hatred 
and  harshness  of  priests,  might  serve  as  an  army.  And  as 
man  was  ceasing  to  believe  and  turning  aside  from  the 
altars,  an  effort  to  bring  him  back  to  them  might  be  at- 
tempted with  the  help  of  woman's  Satanic  but  ever  victor- 
ious charm.  She  need  only  withhold  herself  from  man,  and 
he  would  follow  her  to  the  very  foot  of  the  shrines.  In  this, 
no  doubt,  there  was  much  immoral  inconsistency;  but  had 
not  the  Church  lost  much  of  its  primitive  sternness,  and  had 
not  the  Jesuits  appeared  upon  the  scene  to  fight  the  great 
fight  on  the  new  field  of  casuistry  and  accommodation  with 
the  world?  From  that  time,  then,  the  Church  handled  wo- 
man more  gently  and  skilfully  than  before.  It  still  refused 
to  take  her  to  wife,  for  it  feared  and  loathed  her  as  the  em- 
bodiment of  sin,  but  it  employed  her  to  ensure  its  triumph. 
Its  policy  was  to  keep  her  to  itself,  by  stupefying  her  as 
formerly,  by  holding  her  in  a  state  of  perpetual  mental  in- 
fancy. That  much  ensured,  it  turned  her  into  a  weapon 
of  war,  confident  that  it  would  vanquish  incredulous  man 


232  TRUTH 

by  setting  pious  woman  before  him.  And  in  woman  the 
Church  always  had  a  witness  at  the  family  hearth,  and  was 
able  to  exert  its  influence  even  in  the  most  intimate  moments 
of  conjugal  life,  whenever  it  desired  to  plunge  resisting  men 
into  the  worst  despair.  Thus,  at  bottom,  woman  still  re- 
mained the  human  animal,  and  the  priests  merely  made  use 
of  her  in  order  to  ensure  the  triumph  of  their  creed. 

Marc  easily  reconstituted  the  early  phases  of  Genevieve's 
life:  in  childhood,  the  pleasant  convent  of  the  Sisters  of  the 
Visitation,  with  all  sorts  of  devout  attractions;  the  evening 
prayer  on  one's  knees  beside  the  little  white  bed;  the  pro- 
vidential protection  promised  to  those  who  were  obedient; 
the  lovely  stories  of  Christians  saved  from  lions,  of  guardian 
angels  watching  over  children,  and  carrying  the  pure  souls 
of  the  well-beloved  to  heaven,  such  indeed  as  Monsieur  le 
Cur£  related  in  the  dazzling  chapel.  Afterwards  came  years 
of  skilful  preparation  for  the  first  Communion,  with  the 
extraordinary  mysteries  of  the  Catechism  enshrouded  in 
fearsome  obscurity,  for  ever  disturbing  the  reason,  and 
kindling  all  the  perverse  fever  of  mystical  curiosity.  Then 
in  the  first  troublous  hour  of  maidenhood  the  young  girl, 
enraptured  with  her  white  gown,  her  first  bridal  gown,  was 
affianced  to  Jesus,  united  to  the  divine  lover,  whose  gentle 
sway  she  accepted  for  ever;  and  man  might  come  after- 
wards, he  would  find  himself  forestalled  by  an  influence 
which  would  dispute  his  possession  of  her  with  all  the  haunt- 
ing force  of  remembrance.  Again  and  again  throughout  her 
life  woman  would  see  the  candles  sparkling,  feel  the  incense 
filling  her  with  languor,  hark  back  to  the  wakening  of  her 
senses  amid  the  mysterious  whispering  of  the  confessional 
and  the  languishing  rapture  of  the  Holy  Table.  She  would 
spend  her  youth  encompassed  by  the  worst  prejudices, 
nourished  with  the  errors  and  falsehoods  of  ages,  and, 
above  all  things,  kept  in  close  captivity  in  order  that  nothing 
of  the  real  world  might  reach  her.  Thus  the  girl  of  sixteen 
or  seventeen,  on  quitting  the  good  Sisters  of  the  Visitation, 
was  a  miracle  of  perversion  and  stultification,  one  whose 
natural  vision  had  been  dimmed,  one  who  knew  nothing  of 
herself  nor  of  others,  and  who  in  the  part  she  would  play  in 
love  and  wifehood  would  bring,  apart  from  her  beauty, 
nought  save  religious  poison,  the  evil  ferment  of  every  dis- 
order and  every  suffering. 

Marc  pictured  Genevieve,  somewhat  later,  in  the  devout 
little  house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins.  It  was  there  that 


TRUTH  233 

he  had  first  seen  her  in  the  charge  of  her  grandmother  and 
mother,  the  chief  care  of  whose  vigilant  affection  had  been 
to  complete  the  convent  work  by  setting  on  one  side  every- 
thing that  might  have  made  the  girl  a  creature  of  truth  and 
reason.  It  was  enough  that  she  should  follow  the  Church's 
observances  like  an  obedient  worshipper;  she  was  told  that 
she  need  take  no  interest  in  other  things ;  she  was  prepared 
for  life  by  being  kept  quite  blind  to  it.  Some  effort  on 
Marc's  part  was  already  necessary  to  enable  him  to  recall  her 
such  as  she  had  been  at  the  time  of  their  first  interviews — 
delightfully  fair,  with  a  refined  and  gentle  face,  so  desirable 
too  with  the  flush  of  her  youth,  the  penetrating  perfume  of 
her  blond  beauty,  that  he  only  vaguely  remembered  whether 
she  had  then  shown  much  intelligence  and  sense.  A  gust 
of  passion  had  transported  them  both ;  he  had  felt  that  she 
shared  his  flame ;  for,  however  chilling  might  have  been  her 
education,  she  had  inherited  from  her  father  a  real  craving 
for  love. 

In  matters  of  intellect  she  was  doubtless  no  fool;  he  must 
have  deemed  her  similar  to  other  young  girls,  of  whom  one 
knows  nothing;  and  certainly  he  had  resolved  to  look  into 
all  that  after  their  marriage.  But  when  he  now  recalled 
their  first  years  at  Jonville  he  perceived  how  slight  had  been 
his  efforts  to  know  her  better  and  make  her  more  wholly  his 
own.  They  had  spent  those  years  in  mutual  rapture,  in 
such  passionate  intoxication  that  they  had  remained  uncon- 
scious even  of  their  moral  differences.  She  showed  real  in- 
telligence in  many  things,  and  he  had  not  cared  to  worry 
her  about  the  singular  gaps  which  he  had  occasionally  dis- 
covered in  her  understanding.  As  she  ceased  to  follow  the 
observances  of  the  Church  he  imagined  that  he  had  won 
her  over  to  his  views,  though  he  had  not  even  taken  the 
trouble  to  instruct  her  in  them.  He  now  suspected  that 
there  must  have  been  some  little  cowardice  on  his  part,  some 
dislike  of  the  bother  of  re-educating  her  entirely,  and  also 
some  fear  of  encountering  obstacles,  and  spoiling  the  ador- 
able quietude  of  their  love.  Indeed,  as  their  life  was  all 
happiness,  why  should  he  have  sought  a  cause  of  strife, 
particularly  as  he  had  felt  convinced  that  their  great  love 
would  suffice  to  ensure  their  good  understanding  whatever 
might  arise  ? 

But  now  the  crisis  was  at  hand,  heavy  with  menace. 
When  Salvan  had  interested  himself  in  the  marriage  he 
had  pointed  out  to  Marc  that  if  husband  and  wife  were 


234  TRUTH 

ill-assorted  there  was  always  some  fear  for  the  future ;  and 
to  tranquillise  his  own  conscience  with  respect  to  the  young 
man's  case  it  had  been  necessary  that  he  should  accept  the 
view  adopted  by  Marc,  that  when  a  young  couple  adored 
one  another  it  was  possible  for  the  husband  to  make  his 
wife  such  as  he  desired  her  to  be.  Indeed,  when  an  ignor- 
ant young  girl  is  handed  over  to  a  man  whom  she  loves,  is 
it  not  in  his  power  to  re-create  her  in  his  own  image  ?  He 
is  her  god,  and  may  mould  her  afresh  by  the  sovereign 
might  of  love.  Such  is  the  theory,  but  how  often  is  it  put 
into  practice  ?  Languor,  blindness,  come  upon  the  man 
himself;  and  in  Marc's  case  it  was  only  long  afterwards 
that  he  had  realised  how  ignorant  he  had  really  remained  of 
Genevieve's  mind — a  mind  which,  awaking  according  to  the 
play  of  circumstances,  revealed  itself  at  last  as  that  of  an 
unknown,  antagonistic  woman. 

The  effects  of  the  warm  bath  of  religiosity  in  which  Gene- 
vieve  had  grown  up  were  still  there.  The  adored  woman, 
whom  Marc  had  imagined  to  be  wholly  his  own,  was  pos- 
sessed by  the  indelible,  indestructible  past,  in  which  he  had 
no  share  whatever.  He  perceived  with  stupefaction  that 
they  had  nothing  in  common,  that  though  he  had  made  her 
wife  and  mother,  he  had  in  no  degree  modified  her  brain, 
fashioned  from  her  cradle  days  by  skilful  hands.  Ah !  how 
bitterly  he  now  regretted  that,  in  the  first  months  of  their 
married  life,  he  had  not  striven  to  conquer  the  mind  that 
existed  behind  the  charming  face  which  he  had  covered 
with  his  kisses!  He  ought  not  to  have  abandoned  himself 
to  his  happiness,  he  ought  to  have  striven  to  re-educate  the 
big  child  who  hung  so  amorously  about  his  neck.  As  it 
had  been  his  desire  to  make  her  entirely  his  own,  why  had 
he  not  shown  himself  a  prudent,  sensible  man,  whose  reason 
remained  undisturbed  by  the  joys  of  love  ?  If  he  suffered 
now  it  was  by  reason  of  his  vain  illusions,  his  idleness,  and 
his  egotism  in  refraining  from  action,  from  the  fear  of  spoil- 
ing the  felicity  of  his  dalliance. 

But  the  danger  had  now  become  so  serious  that  he  re- 
solved to  contend  with  it.  A  last  excuse  for  avoiding 
anything  like  rough  intervention  remained  to  him:  respect 
for  another's  freedom,  tolerance  of  whatever  might  be  the 
sincere  faith  of  his  life's  companion.  With  amorous  weak- 
ness he  had  consented  to  a  religious  marriage,  and  subse- 
quently to  the  baptism  of  his  daughter  Louise,  and,  in  the 
same  way,  he  now  lacked  the  strength  to  forbid  his  wife's 


TRUTH  235 

attendance  at  Mass,  Communion,  and  Confession,  if  her 
belief  lay  in  such  observances.  Yet  times  had  changed; 
he  might  have  pleaded  that  at  the  date  of  his  wedding, 
and  again  at  the  period  of  his  daughter's  birth,  he  had  been 
quite  indifferent  to  Church  matters,  whereas  things  were 
very  different  now  that  he  had  formally  rejected  the  Church 
and  its  creed.  He  had  imposed  a  duty  on  himself,  he  ought 
to  set  an  example,  he  ought  not  to  allow  in  his  own  home 
that  which  he  condemned  in  the  homes  of  others.  If  he, 
the  secular  schoolmaster,  who  showed  such  marked  hostility 
to  the  interference  of  priests  in  the  education  of  the  young, 
should  suffer  his  wife  to  go  to  Mass  and  take  little  Louise 
with  her,  would  he  not  render  himself  liable  to  reproach  ? 
Nevertheless,  he  did  not  feel  that  he  had  the  right  to  prevent 
those  things,  so  great  was  his  innate  respect  for  liberty  of 
conscience.  Thus,  confronted  as  he  was  by  the  imperious 
necessity  of  defending  his  happiness,  he  perceived  no  other 
available  weapons,  particularly  in  his  own  home,  than  dis- 
cussion, persuasion,  and  the  daily  teaching  of  life  in  all  that 
it  has  of  a  logical  and  healthful  nature.  That  which  he 
ought  to  have  done  at  the  outset,  he  must  attempt  now,  not 
only  in  order  to  win  his  Genevieve  over  to  healthy  human 
truth,  but  also  to  prevent  their  dear  Louise  from  following 
her  into  the  deadly  errors  of  Roman  Catholicism. 

For  the  moment,  however,  the  case  of  Louise,  now  seven 
years  of  age,  seemed  less  urgent.  Moreover,  though  Marc 
was  convinced  that  a  child's  first  impressions  are  the  keenest 
and  the  most  tenacious,  circumstances  compelled  a  waiting 
policy  with  respect  to  his  little  girl.  He  had  been  obliged 
to  let  her  attend  the  neighbouring  school,  where  Mademoi- 
selle Rouzaire  was  already  filling  her  mind  with  Bible  his- 
tory. There  were  also  prayers  at  the  beginning  and  at  the 
end  of  lessons,  Sunday  attendance  at  Mass,  benedictions  and 
processions.  The  schoolmistress  had  certainly  bowed  assent 
with  a  sharp  smile  when  Marc  had  exacted  from  her  a 
promise  that  his  daughter  should  not  be  required  to  follow 
any  religious  exercises.  But  the  girl  was  still  so  young  that 
it  seemed  ridiculous  to  insist  on  preserving  her  from  con- 
tamination in  this  fashion;  besides  which,  Marc  was  not 
always  at  hand  to  make  sure  whether  she  said  prayers  with 
the  other  children  or  not.  That  which  disgusted  him  with 
Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  was  less  the  clerical  zeal  which 
seemed  to  consume  her  than  her  hypocrisy,  the  keen  per- 
sonal interest  which  guided  all  her  actions.  The  woman's 


236  TRUTH 

lack  of  real  faith,  her  mere  exploitation  of  religious  senti- 
mentality for  her  own  advantage,  was  so  apparent  that  even 
Genevieve,  whose  uprightness  still  remained  entire,  was 
wounded  by  it,  and  for  this  reason  had  repulsed  the  other's 
advances. 

The  schoolmistress,  indeed,  wishing  to  worm  her  way 
into  Marc's  home  and  scenting  the  possibility  of  a  drama 
there,  had  suddenly  manifested  great  friendship  for  her 
neighbour.  What  delight  and  glory  it  would  be  if  she  could 
render  the  Church  a  service  in  that  direction,  separate  the 
wife  from  the  husband,  and  strike  the  secular  schoolmaster 
down  at  his  own  fireside!  She  therefore  showed  herself 
very  amiable  and  insinuating,  ever  keeping  on  the  watch 
behind  the  party-wall,  hoping  for  some  opportunity  which 
would  enable  her  to  intervene  and  console  the  '  poor  perse- 
cuted little  wife. '  At  times  she  risked  allusions,  expressions 
of  sympathy,  words  of  advice :  '  It  was  so  sad  when  husband 
and  wife  were  not  of  the  same  faith !  And  assuredly  one 
must  not  wreck  one's  soul,  so  it  was  best  to  offer  some 
gentle  resistance.'  On  two  occasions  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire  had  the  pleasure  of  seeing  Genevieve  shed  tears.  But 
afterwards  the  young  wife,  feeling  very  uneasy,  drew  away 
from  her,  and  avoided  all  further  confidential  chats.  That 
mealy-mouthed  woman,  with  her  '  gendarme  '  build,  her 
fondness  for  anisette,  and  her  chatter  about  the  priests, — 
'  who,  after  all,  were  not  different  from  other  men,  and  of 
whom  it  was  wrong  to  speak  badly,' — inspired  her  with 
unconquerable  repugnance.  Thus  repulsed,  Mademois- 
elle Rouzaire  felt  her  hatred  for  her  neighbours  increase, 
and  visited  her  spite  on  little  Louise  by  instructing  her 
most  carefully  in  religious  matters,  in  spite  of  the  paternal 
prohibition. 

If  Marc  was  not  seriously  concerned  as  yet  about  his 
daughter,  he  understood  that  it  was  urgent  he  should  act  in 
order  to  prevent  his  beloved  Genevieve  from  being  wrested 
from  him.  It  was  now  plain  to  him  that  her  religious  views 
had  revived  at  her  grandmother's  house.  The  pious  little 
home  on  the  Place  des  Capucins  was  like  a  hotbed  of  mys- 
tical contagion,  where  a  faith,  which  had  not  been  extin- 
guished, but  which  had  died  down  amid  the  first  joys  of 
human  love,  was  bound  to  be  fanned  into  flame  once  more. 
Had  they  remained  at  Jonville  in  loving  solitude,  he,  Marc, 
might  have  sufficed  for  Genevieve's  yearning  passion.  But 
at  Maillebois  foreign  elements  had  intervened  between  them. 


TRUTH  237 

That  terrible  Simon  case  had  brought  about  the  first  snap, 
and  then  had  come  its  consequences,  the  struggle  between 
himself  and  the  Congregations,  and  the  liberating  mission 
which  he  had  undertaken.  Besides,  they  had  no  longer  re- 
mained alone ;  a  stream  of  people  and  things  now  flowed 
between  them,  growing  ever  wider  and  wider,  and  they 
could  already  foresee  the  day  when  they  would  be  utter 
strangers,  one  to  the  other. 

At  present  Genevieve  met  some  of  Marc's  bitterest 
enemies  at  Madame  Duparque's.  The  young  man  learnt 
at  last  that  the  terrible  grandmother,  after  years  of  humble 
solicitation,  had  obtained  the  favour  of  being  included 
among  Father  Crabot's  penitents.  The  Rector  of  Valmarie 
usually  reserved  his  services  as  confessor  for  the  fine  ladies 
of  Beaumont,  and  only  some  very  powerful  reasons  could 
have  induced  him  to  confess  that  old  bourgeoise,  who, 
socially,  was  of  no  account  whatever.  And  not  only  did 
he  receive  her  at  the  chapel  of  Valmarie,  but  he  did  her  the 
honour  to  repair  to  the  Place  des  Capucins  whenever  an 
attack  of  gout  confined  her  to  her  armchair.  He  there 
met  other  personages  of  the  cloth,  Abbe"  Quandieu,  Father 
The"odose,  and  Brother  Fulgence,  who  became  partial  to 
that  pious  nook  all  shadows  and  silence,  that  well-closed 
little  house  where  their  conclaves,  it  seemed,  might  pass 
unperceived.  Nevertheless,  rumours  circulated,  some  evil- 
minded  people  saying  that  the  house  was  indeed  the  clerical 
faction's  secret  headquarters,  the  hidden  laboratory,  where 
its  most  important  resolutions  were  prepared.  Yet  how 
could  one  seriously  suspect  the  modest  dwelling  of  two  old 
ladies,  who  certainly  had  every  right  to  receive  their  friends  ? 
The  latter's  shadows  were  scarcely  seen;  Pelagic,  the  serv- 
ant, swiftly  and  softly  closed  the  door  upon  them;  not  a 
face  ever  appeared  at  the  windows,  not  a  murmur  filtered 
through  the  sleepy  little  fa?ade.  Everything  was  very 
dignified — great  deference  was  shown  for  that  highly  re- 
spectable dwelling. 

But  Marc  regretted  that  he  had  not  gone  there  more 
frequently.  Assuredly  he  had  made  a  great  mistake  in 
abandoning  Genevieve  to  the  two  old  ladies,  allowing  her 
to  spend  whole  days  in  their  company  with  little  Louise. 
His  presence  would  have  counteracted  the  contagion  of  that 
sphere ;  had  he  been  there  the  others  would  have  restrained 
the  stealthy  attacks  which,  as  he  well  realised,  they  made 
upon  his  ideas  and  his  person.  Genevieve,  as  if  conscious 


238  TRUTH 

of  the  danger  with  which  the  peace  of  her  home  was  threat- 
ened, occasionally  offered  some  resistance,  struggling  to 
avoid  hostilities  with  the  husband  whom  she  still  loved. 
For  instance,  on  returning  to  the  observances  of  the  Church, 
she  had  chosen  Abb£  Quandieu  as  her  confessor  instead  of 
Father  Theodose,  whom  Madame  Duparque  had  sought  to 
impose  on  her.  The  young  woman  was  conscious  of  the 
warlike  ardour  that  lurked  behind  the  Capuchin's  handsome 
face,  his  beautifully-kept  black  beard,  and  his  glowing  eyes, 
which  filled  his  penitents  with  dreams  of  rapture;  whereas 
the  Abb£  was  a  prudent  and  gentle  man,  a  fatherly  confes- 
sor, whose  frequent  silence  was  full  of  sadness — one,  too,  in 
whom  she  vaguely  divined  a  friend,  one  who  suffered  from 
the  fratricidal  warfare  of  the  times,  and  longed  for  peace 
among  all  workers  of  good  will.  Genevieve,  indeed,  was 
yet  at  a  stage  of  loving  tenderness,  when  her  mind,  though 
gradually  becoming  clouded,  still  manifested  some  anxiety 
before  it  finally  sank  into  mystical  passion.  But  day  by 
day  she  was  confronted  by  more  serious  assaults,  and  yielded 
more  and  more  to  the  disturbing  influence  of  her  relatives, 
whose  unctuous  gestures  and  caressing  words  slowly  be- 
numbed her.  In  vain  did  Marc  now  repair  more  frequently 
to  the  Place  des  Capucins;  he  could  no  longer  arrest  the 
poison's  deadly  work. 

As  yet,  however,  there  was  no  attempt  to  enforce  author- 
ity, no  brutal  roughness.  Genevieve  was  merely  enticed, 
flattered,  cajoled,  with  gentle  hands.  And  no  violent  words 
were  spoken  of  her  husband ;  on  the  contrary,  he  was  said 
to  be  a  man  deserving  of  all  pity,  a  sinner  whose  salvation 
was  most  desirable.  The  unhappy  being!  He  knew  not 
what  incalculable  harm  he  was  doing  to  his  country,  how 
many  children's  souls  he  was  wrecking,  sending  to  hell, 
through  his  obstinate  rebellion  and  pride!  Then,  at  first 
vaguely,  and  afterwards  more  and  more  plainly,  a  desire 
was  expressed  in  Genevieve's  presence  that  she  might  devote 
herself  to  the  most  praiseworthy  task  of  converting  that 
sinner,  redeeming  that  guilty  man,  whom,  in  her  weakness, 
she  still  loved.  What  joy  and  glory  would  be  hers  if  she 
should  lead  him  back  to  religion,  arrest  his  rageful  work  of 
destruction,  save  him,  and  thereby  save  his  innocent  victims 
from  eternal  damnation !  For  several  months,  with  infinite 
craft,  the  young  woman  was  in  this  wise  worked  upon,  pre- 
pared for  the  enterprise  expected  of  her,  with  the  evident 
hope  of  bringing  about  conjugal  rupture  by  fomenting  a  col- 


TRUTH  239 

lision  between  the  two  irreconcilable  principles  which  she 
and  her  husband  represented — she  a  woman  of  the  past, 
full  of  the  errors  of  the  ages — he  a  man  of  free  thought, 
marching  towards  the  future.  And  in  time  the  much- 
sought,  inevitable  developments  appeared. 

The  conjugal  life  of  Marc  and  Genevieve  grew  sadder 
every  day — that  life  so  gay  and  loving  once,  when  their 
kisses  had  perpetually  mingled  with  their  merry  laughter. 
They  had  not  yet  reached  the  quarrelling  stage;  but,  as 
soon  as  they  found  themselves  alone  together  and  unoccu- 
pied, they  felt  embarrassed.  Something  of  which  they 
never  spoke  seemed  to  be  growing  up  between  them,  chill- 
ing them  more  and  more,  prompting  them  to  enmity.  On 
Marc's  side  there  was  a  growing  consciousness  that  she 
who  was  bound  up  with  every  hour  of  his  life,  she  whom  he 
embraced  at  night,  was  a  woman  foreign  to  him,  one  whose 
ideas  and  sentiments  he  reprobated.  And  on  Genevieve's 
side  there  was  a  similar  feeling,  an  exasperating  conviction 
that  she  was  regarded  as  an  ignorant,  unreasonable  child, 
one  who  was  still  adored  but  with  a  love  laden  with  much 
dolorous  compassion.  Thus  their  first  wounds  were  im- 
minent. 

One  night,  when  they  were  in  bed,  encompassed  by  the 
warm  darkness,  while  Marc  held  Genevieve  in  a  mute  em- 
brace as  if  she  were  some  sulking  child,  she  suddenly  burst 
into  bitter  sobs,  exclaiming:  'Ah!  you  love  me  no  longer! ' 

'  No  longer  love  you,  my  darling!  '  he  replied;  '  why  do 
you  say  that  ? ' 

'  If  you  loved  me  you  would  not  leave  me  in  such  dread- 
ful sorrow!  You  turn  away  from  me  more  and  more  each 
day.  You  treat  me  as  if  I  were  some  ailing  creature,  sickly 
or  insane.  Nothing  that  I  may  say  seems  of  any  account  to 
you.  You  shrug  your  shoulders  at  it.  Ah!  I  feel  it  plainly, 
you  are  growing  more  and  more  impatient;  I  am  becoming 
a  worry,  a  burden  to  you.' 

Though  Marc's  heart  contracted,  he  did  not  interrupt  her, 
for  he  wished  to  learn  everything. 

'Yes,'  she  resumed,  '  unhappily  for  me  I  can  see  things 
quite  plainly.  You  take  more  interest  in  the  last  of  your 
boys  than  you  do  in  me.  When  you  are  downstairs  with 
the  boys,  in  the  classroom,  you  become  impassioned,  you 
pour  out  your  whole  soul,  you  exert  yourself  to  explain  the 
slightest  things  to  them,  and  laugh  and  play  with  them  like 
an  elder  brother.  But  directly  you  come  upstairs  you  get 


240  TRUTH 

gloomy  again;  you  can  think  of  nothing  to  say  to  me,  you 
look  ill  at  ease,  like  a  man  who  's  worried  by  his  wife  and 
tired  of  her.  .  .  .  Ah!  God,  God,  how  unhappy  I  am! ' 

Again  she  burst  into  sobs. 

Then  Marc,  making  up  his  mind,  gently  responded:  'I 
dared  not  tell  you  the  cause  of  my  sadness,  darling,  but  if  I 
suffer  it  is  precisely  because  I  find  in  you  all  that  you  re- 
proach me  with.  You  are  never  with  me  now.  You  spend 
whole  days  elsewhere,  and  when  you  come  home  you  bring 
with  you  an  air  of  unreason  and  death,  which  ravages  our 
poor  home.  It  is  you  who  no  longer  speak  to  me.  Your 
mind  is  always  wandering,  deep  in  some  dim  dream,  even 
while  you  are  sewing,  or  serving  the  meals,  or  attending  to 
our  little  Louise.  It  is  you  who  treat  me  with  indulgent 
pity,  as  if  I  were  a  guilty  man,  perhaps  one  unconscious  of 
his  crime;  and  it  is  you  who  will  soon  have  ceased  to  love 
me,  if  you  refuse  to  open  your  eyes  to  a  little  reasonable 
truth.' 

But  she  would  not  admit  it ;  she  interrupted  each  sentence 
that  came  from  him  with  protests  full  of  vehemence  and 
stupefaction:  'I!  I!  It  is  I  whom  you  accuse!  I  tell  you 
that  you  no  longer  love  me,  and  you  dare  to  assert  that  I 
am  losing  my  love  for  you! '  Then,  casting  aside  all  re- 
straint, revealing  the  innermost  thoughts  that  haunted  her 
day  by  day,  she  continued:  'Ah!  how  happy  are  the  wo- 
men whose  husbands  share  their  faith!  I  see  some  in 
church  who  are  always  accompanied  by  their  husbands. 
How  delightful  it  must  be  for  husband  and  wife  to  place 
themselves  conjointly  in  the  hands  of  God!  Those  homes 
are  blessed,  they  indeed  have  but  one  soul,  and  there  is  no 
felicity  that  heaven  does  not  shower  on  them !  ' 

Marc  could  not  restrain  a  slight  laugh,  at  once  very  gentle 
and  distressful.  '  So  now,  my  poor  wife, '  he  said,  '  you 
think  of  trying  to  convert  me  ? ' 

'  What  harm  would  there  be  in  that  ? '  she  answered 
eagerly.  '  Do  you  imagine  I  do  not  love  you  enough  to  feel 
frightful  grief  at  the  thought  of  the  deadly  peril  you  are  in  ? 
You  do  not  believe  in  future  punishment,  you  brave  the 
wrath  of  heaven ;  but  for  my  part  I  pray  heaven  every  day 
to  enlighten  you,  and  I  would  give  —  ah !  willingly  —  ten 
years  of  my  life  to  be  able  to  open  your  eyes,  and  save  you 
from  the  terrible  catastrophes  which  threaten  you.  Ah!  if 
you  would  only  love  me,  and  listen  to  me,  and  follow  me  to 
the  land  of  eternal  delight! ' 


TRUTH  241 

She  trembled  in  his  embrace,  she  glowed  with  such  a  fever 
of  superhuman  desire  that  he  was  thunderstruck,  for  he 
had  not  imagined  the  evil  to  be  so  deep.  It  was  she  who 
catechised  him  now,  who  tried  to  win  him  to  her  faith,  and 
he  felt  ashamed,  for  was  she  not  doing  what  he  himself 
ought  to  have  done  the  very  first  day — that  is,  strive  to  con- 
vert her  to  his  own  views  ?  He  could  not  help  expressing 
his  thoughts  aloud,  and  unluckily  he  said:  '  It  is  not  you 
yourself  who  is  speaking;  you  have  been  given  a  task  full  of 
danger  for  the  happiness  of  both  of  us.' 

At  this  she  began  to  lose  her  temper:  'Why  do  you 
wound  me  like  that  ? '  she  asked.  '  Do  you  think  I  am  in- 
capable of  acting  for  myself — from  personal  conviction  and 
affection  ?  Am  I  senseless,  then — so  stupid  and  docile  that 
I  can  only  serve  as  an  instrument  ?  Besides,  even  if  people 
— who  are  worthy  of  all  respect,  and  whose  sacred  character 
you  disregard — do  speak  to  me  about  you  in  a  brotherly 
way  which  would  surprise  you — ought  you  not  rather  to  be 
moved  by  it,  ought  you  not  to  yield  to  such  loving-kindness  ? 
.  God,  who  might  strike  you  down,  holds  out  His 
arms  to  you  .  .  .  yet  when  He  makes  use  of  me  and 
my  love  to  lead  you  back  to  Him  you  can  only  jest  and 
treat  me  as  if  I  were  a  foolish  little  girl  repeating  a  lesson ! 
.  Ah !  we  understand  each  other  no  longer,  and  it  is 
that  which  grieves  me  so  much! ' 

While  she  spoke  he  felt  his  fear  and  desolation  increasing. 
'  That  is  true, '  he  repeated  slowly,  '  we  no  longer  understand 
one  another.  Words  no  longer  have  the  same  meaning  for 
us,  and  every  reproach  that  I  address  to  you,  you  address 
to  me.  Which  of  us  will  break  away  from  the  other  ? 
Which  of  us  loves  the  other  and  works  for  the  other's  hap- 
piness ?  .  .  .  Ah !  I  am  the  guilty  one  and  I  greatly 
fear  that  it  is  too  late  for  me  to  repair  my  fault.  I  ought 
to  have  taught  you  where  to  find  truth  and  equity.' 

At  these  words,  so  suggestive  of  his  profession,  her  rebel- 
lion became  complete.  '  Yes,  for  you  I  am  always  a  foolish 
pupil  who  knows  nothing  and  whose  eyes  require  to  be 
opened.  But  it  is  I  who  know  where  truth  and  justice  are 
to  be  found.  You  have  not  the  right  to  speak  those  words.' 

4  Not  the  right!  ' 

'  No;  you  have  plunged  into  that  monstrous  error,  that 
ignoble  Simon  affair,  in  which  your  hatred  of  the  Church 
blinds  you  and  urges  you  to  the  worst  iniquity.  When  a 
man  like  you  goes  so  far  as  to  override  all  truth  and  justice 

»6 


242  TRUTH 

in  order  to  strike  and  befoul  the  ministers  of  religion,  it  is 
better  to  believe  that  he  has  lost  his  senses. ' 

This  time  Marc  reached  the  root  of  the  quarrel  which 
Genevieve  was  picking  with  him.  The  Simon  case  lay  be- 
neath everything  else,  it  was  that  alone  which  had  inspired 
all  the  discreet  and  skilful  manoeuvring  of  which  he  beheld 
the  effects.  If  his  wife  were  enticed  away  from  him  at  her 
relatives'  home,  if  she  were  employed  as  a  weapon  to  strike 
him  a  deadly  blow,  it  was  especially  in  order  that  an  artisan 
of  truth,  a  possible  justiciary,  might  be  smitten  in  his  per- 
son. It  was  necessary  to  suppress  him,  for  his  destruction 
alone  could  ensure  the  impunity  of  the  real  culprits. 

His  voice  trembled  with  deep  grief  as  he  answered:  'Ah! 
Genevieve,  this  is  more  serious.  There  will  be  an  end  to 
our  home  if  we  can  no  longer  agree  on  so  clear  and  so 
simple  a  question.  Are  you  no  longer  on  my  side,  then, 
in  that  painful  affair  ?  ' 

4  No,  certainly  not. ' 

4  You  think  poor  Simon  guilty  ? ' 

4  Why,  there  is  no  doubt  of  it !  The  reasons  you  give  for 
asserting  his  innocence  repose  on  no  foundation  whatever! 
I  should  like  you  to  hear  the  persons  whose  purity  of  life 
you  dare  to  suspect!  And  as  you  fall  into  such  gross  error 
respecting  a  case  in  which  everything  is  so  evident,  a  case 
which  is  settled  beyond  possibility  of  appeal,  how  can  I  place 
the  slightest  faith  in  your  other  notions,  your  fanciful  social 
system,  in  which  you  begin  by  suppressing  religion  ? ' 

He  had  taken  her  in  his  arms  again,  and  was  holding  her 
in  a  tight  embrace.  Ah!  she  was  right.  Their  slowly  in- 
creasing rupture  had  originated  in  their  divergence  of  views 
on  that  question  of  truth  and  justice,  in  reference  to  which 
others  had  managed  to  poison  her  understanding.  '  Listen, 
Genevieve,'  he  said;  'there  is  only  one  truth,  one  justice. 
You  must  listen  to  me,  and  our  agreement  will  restore  our 
peace.' 

'No,  no!' 

'  But,  Genevieve,  you  must  not  remain  in  such  darkness 
when  I  see  light  all  around  me;  it  would  mean  separation 
forever.' 

'  No,  no,  let  me  be!     You  tire  me;  I  won't  even  listen.' 

She  wrenched  herself  from  his  embrace  and  turned  her 
back  upon  him.  He  vainly  sought  to  clasp  her  again,  kiss- 
ing her  and  whispering  gentle  words ;  she  would  not  move, 
she  would  not  even  answer.  A  chill  swept  down  on  the 


TRUTH  243 

conjugal  couch,  and  the  room  seemed  black  as  ink,  dolor- 
ously lifeless,  as  if  the  misfortune  which  was  coming  had 
already  annihilated  everything. 

From  that  time  forward  Genevieve  became  more  nervous 
and  ill-tempered.  Much  less  consideration  was  now  shown 
for  her  husband  at  her  grandmother's  house;  he  was  at- 
tacked in  her  presence  in  an  artfully  graduated  manner,  as 
by  degrees  her  affection  for  him  was  seen  to  decline.  Little 
by  little  he  became  a  public  malefactor,  one  of  the  damned, 
a  slayer  of  the  God  she  worshipped.  And  the  rebellion  to 
which  she  was  thus  urged  re-echoed  in  her  home  in  bitter 
words,  in  an  increase  of  discomfort  and  coldness.  Fresh 
quarrels  arose  at  intervals,  usually  at  night,  when  they  re- 
tired to  rest,  for  in  the  daytime  they  saw  little  of  each  other, 
Marc  then  being  busy  with  his  boys  and  Genevieve  being 
constantly  absent,  now  at  church,  now  at  her  grandmother's. 
Thus  their  life  was  gradually  quite  spoilt.  The  young  wo- 
man showed  herself  more  and  more  aggressive,  while  her 
husband,  so  tolerant  by  nature,  in  his  turn  ended  by  mani- 
festing irritation. 

'  My  darling,  I  shall  want  you  to-morrow  during  afternoon 
lessons,'  he  said  one  evening. 

'  To-morrow  ?  I  can't  come,'  she  replied;  'Abb£  Quan- 
dieu  will  be  expecting  me.  Besides,  you  need  not  rely  on 
me  for  anything. ' 

'  Won't  you  help  me,  then  ? ' 

'  No,  I  detest  everything  you  do.  Damn  yourself  if  you 
choose;  but  I  have  to  think  of  my  salvation.' 

4  Then  each  is  to  go  his  own  way  ?  ' 

'  As  you  please.' 

'  Oh !  darling,  darling,  is  it  you  who  speak  like  that  ? 
Are  they  going  to  change  your  heart  after  fogging  your 
mind?  So  now  you  are  altogether  on  the  side  of  the  cor- 
rupters  and  poisoners  ? ' 

'  Be  quiet,  be  quiet,  you  unhappy  man!  It  is  your  work 
which  is  all  falsehood  and  poison.  You  blaspheme;  your 
justice  and  your  truth  are  filthy;  and  it  is  the  devil — yes, 
the  devil — who  teaches  those  wretched  children  of  yours, 
whom  I  no  longer  even  pity,  for  they  must  be  stupid  indeed 
to  remain  here !  ' 

'  My  poor  darling,  how  is  it  possible  that  you,  once  so  in- 
telligent, can  say  such  foolish  things?' 

'  When  a  man  finds  women  foolish  he  leaves  them  to 
themselves.' 


244  TRUTH 

Thereupon,  in  his  turn  losing  his  temper,  Marc,  indeed, 
left  her  to  herself,  making  no  effort  to  win  her  back  by  a 
loving  caress  as  in  former  days.  It  often  happened  that 
they  were  unable  to  get  to  sleep;  they  lay  in  bed,  side  by 
side,  with  their  eyes  wide  open  in  the  darkness,  silent  and 
motionless,  as  if  the  little  space  which  separated  them  had 
become  an  abyss. 

Marc  was  particularly  afflicted  by  the  growing  hatred  which 
Genevieve  manifested  against  his  school,  against  the  dear 
children  whom  he  so  passionately  strove  to  teach.  At  each 
fresh  dispute  she  expressed  herself  so  bitterly  that  it  seemed 
as  if  she  became  jealous  of  the  little  ones  when  she  saw  him 
treat  them  so  affectionately,  endeavour  so  zealously  to  make 
them  sensible  and  peaceable.  At  bottom,  indeed,  Gene- 
vieve's  quarrel  with  Marc  had  no  other  cause;  for  she  her- 
self was  but  a  child,  one  of  those  who  needed  to  be  taught  and 
freed,  but  who  rebelled  and  clung  stubbornly  to  the  errors  of 
the  ages.  And  in  her  estimation  all  the  affection  which  her 
husband  lavished  on  his  boys  was  diverted  from  herself.  As 
long  as  he  should  busy  himself  with  them  in  such  a  fatherly 
fashion,  she  would  be  unable  to  conquer  him,  carry  him 
away  into  the  divine  and  rapturous  stultification,  in  which 
she  would  fain  have  seen  him  fall  asleep  in  her  arms.  The 
struggle  at  last  became  concentrated  on  that  one  point. 
Genevieve  no  longer  passed  the  classroom  without  feeling 
an  inclination  vto  cross  herself,  like  one  who  was  utterly  up- 
set by  the  diabolical  work  accomplished  there,  who  was 
irritated  by  her  powerlessness  to  wrest  from  such  impious 
courses  the  man  whose  bed  she  still  shared: 

Months,  even  years  went  by,  and  the  battle  between 
Marc  and  Genevieve  grew  fiercer.  But  no  imprudent  haste 
was  displayed  at  the  home  of  her  relatives,  for  the  Church 
has  all  eternity  before  her  to  achieve  her  ends.  Besides, 
leaving  on  one  side  that  vain  marplot,  Brother  Fulgence, 
Father  The'odose  and  Father  Crabot  were  too  skilled  in  the 
manipulation  of  souls  to  overlook  the  necessity  of  proceed- 
ing slowly  with  a  woman  of  passionate  nature,  whose  mind 
was  an  upright  one  when  mysticism  did  not  obscure  and 
pervert  it.  As  long  as  she  should  love  her  husband,  as  long 
as  there  should  be  no  conjugal  rupture,  the  work  they  had 
undertaken  would  not  be  complete.  And  it  required  a  long 
time  to  uproot  and  extirpate  a  great  love  from  a  woman's 
heart  and  flesh  in  such  wise  that  it  might  never  grow  again. 
Thus  Genevieve  was  left  in  the  hands  of  Abb£  Quandieu, 


TRUTH  245 

so  that  he  might  gently  rock  her  to  sleep  before  more  ener- 
getic action  was  attempted.  Meantime,  the  others  con- 
tented themselves  with  watching  her.  It  was  a  masterpiece 
of  delicate,  gradual,  but  certain  spell  working. 

Another  affair  helped  to  disturb  Marc's  home.  He  took 
a  great  deal  of  interest  in  Madame  Ferou,  who  had  installed 
herself  with  her  three  daughters  in  a  wretched  lodging  at 
Maillebois,  where  she  had  sought  work  as  a  seamstress  while 
awaiting  a  summons  from  her  husband,  the  dismissed  school- 
master, who  had  fled  to  Brussels  to  seek  employment  there. 
But  the  wretched  man's  endeavours  had  proved  fruitless. 
He  had  found  himself  unable  even  to  provide  for  his  own 
wants;  and  tortured  by  separation,  exasperated  by  exile,  he 
had  lost  his  head  and  returned  to  Maillebois  with  the  bra- 
vado of  one  whom  misery  pursues  and  who  can  know  no 
worse  misfortune  than  that  already  befalling  him.  De- 
nounced on  the  very  next  day,  he  was  seized  by  the  military 
authorities  as  a  deserter,  and  Salvan  had  to  intervene 
actively  to  save  him  from  being  incorporated  at  once  in 
some  disciplinary  company.  He  was  now  in  garrison  in  a 
little  Alpine  town,  at  the  other  end  of  France,  while  his 
wife  and  daughters,  scarcely  possessed  of  shelter  and 
clothes,  often  found  themselves  without  bread. 

Marc  also  had  exerted  himself  on  Ferou 's  behalf  at  the 
time  of  his  arrest.  He  had  then  seen  him  for  a  few  minutes 
and  was  unable  to  forget  him.  That  poor,  big,  haggard 
fellow  lingered  in  his  mind  like  the  victim,  par  excellence,  of 
social  abomination.  Doubtless  he  had  made  his  retention 
in  office  impossible,  even  as  Mauraisin  said;  but  how  many 
excuses  there  were  for  this  shepherd's  son  who  had  become 
a  schoolmaster,  who  had  been  starved  for  years,  who  had 
been  treated  with  so  much  scorn  on  account  of  his  poverty, 
who  had  been  cast  to  the  most  extreme  views  by  his  circum- 
stances: he,  a  man  of  intelligence  and  learning,  who  found 
himself  possessing  nothing,  knowing  not  one  joy  of  life, 
whereas  ignorant  brutes  possessed  and  enjoyed  all  around 
him.  And  the  long  iniquity  had  ended  in  brutal  barrack- 
life  far  away  from  those  who  were  dear  to  him,  and  who 
were  perishing  of  misery. 

'  Is  it  not  enough  to  goad  one  into  turning  everything  up- 
side down? '  he  had  cried  to  Marc  at  their  brief  interview, 
his  eyes  flashing  while  he  waved  his  long  bony  arms.  '  I 
signed,  it  's  true,  a  ten  years'  engagement  which  exempted 
me  from  barrack-life  if  I  gave  those  ten  years  to  teaching. 


246  TRUTH 

And  it  's  true  also  that  I  gave  only  eight  years,  as  I  was  re- 
voked for  having  said  what  I  thought  about  the  black-frocks' 
revolting  idolatry!  But  was  it  I  who  cancelled  my  engage- 
ment? And  after  casting  me  brutally  adrift,  without  any 
means  of  subsistence,  is  n't  it  monstrous  to  seize  me  and 
claim  payment  of  my  old  debt  to  the  army,  in  such  wise  that 
my  wife  and  children  must  remain  with  nobody  to  earn  a 
living  for  them?  The  eight  years  I  spent  in  the  university 
penitentiary,  where  a  man  who  believes  in  truth  is  allowed 
neither  freedom  of  speech  nor  freedom  of  action,  were  not 
enough  for  them !  They  insist  on  robbing  me  of  two  more 
years,  on  shutting  me  up  in  their  gaol  of  blood  and  iron, 
and  reducing  me  to  that  life  of  passive  obedience  which  is 
the  necessary  apprenticeship  for  devastation  and  massacre, 
the  mere  thought  of  which  exasperates  me!  Ah!  it  's  too 
much.  I  've  given  them  quite  enough  of  my  life,  and  they 
will  end  by  maddening  me  if  they  ask  me  for  more. ' 

Alarmed  at  finding  him  so  excited,  Marc  tried  to  calm 
him  by  promising  to  do  all  he  could  for  his  wife  and  daugh- 
ters. In  two  years'  time  he  would  be  released,  and  then 
some  position  might  be  found  for  him,  and  he  would  be  able 
to  begin  his  life  afresh.  But  Fe"rou  remained  gloomy,  and 
growled  angry  words:  '  No,  no,  I  'm  done  for.  I  shall 
never  get  through  those  two  years  quietly.  They  know  it 
well,  and  it  's  to  get  the  chance  of  killing  me  like  a  mad 
dog  that  they  are  sending  me  yonder.' 

Then  he  inquired  who  had  replaced  him  at  Le  Moreux, 
and  on  hearing  that  it  was  a  man  named  Chagnat,  an  ex- 
assistant  teacher  at  BreVannes,  a  large  parish  of  the  region, 
he  began  to  laugh  bitterly.  Chagnat,  a  dusky  little  man 
with  a  low  brow  and  retreating  mouth  and  chin,  was  the 
personification  of  the  perfect  beadle — not  a  hypocrite  like 
Jauffre,  who  made  use  of  religion  as  a  means  to  advance- 
ment, but  a  shallow-brained  bigot,  such  a  dolt  indeed  as  to 
believe  in  any  nonsensical  trash  that  fell  from  the  priest's 
lips.  His  wife,  a  huge  carroty  creature,  was  yet  more  stupid 
than  himself.  And  Fe"rou's  bitter  gaiety  increased  when  he 
learnt  that  Mayor  Saleur  had  completely  abdicated  in  favour 
of  that  idiot  Chagnat,  whom  Abbe  Cognasse  employed  as 
a  kind  of  sacristan-delegate  to  rule  the  parish  on  his  behalf. 

'When  I  told  you  long  ago,'  said  Fe"rou,  'that  all  that 
dirty  gang,  the  priests,  the  good  Brothers,  and  the  good 
Sisters,  would  eat  us  up  and  reign  here,  you  would  n't  be- 
lieve me ;  you  declared  that  my  mind  was  diseased !  Well, 


TRUTH  247 

now  it  has  come  to  pass;  they  are  your  masters,  and  you  '11 
see  into  what  a  fine  mess  they  will  lead  you.  It  disgusts 
one  to  be  a  man:  a  stray  dog  is  less  to  be  pitied.  And  as 
for  myself  I  've  had  quite  enough  of  it  all.  I  '11  bring  things 
to  an  end  if  they  plague  me. ' 

Nevertheless  Ferou  was  sent  off  to  join  his  regiment,  and 
another  three  months  went  by,  the  wretchedness  of  his  un- 
happy wife  steadily  increasing.  She,  once  so  fair  and 
pleasant  with  her  bright  and  fresh  round  face,  now  looked 
twice  as  old  as  she  really  was,  aged  betimes  by  hard  toil  and 
want.  She  still  found  very  little  work,  and  spent  an  entire 
winter  month  fireless,  almost  without  bread.  To  make 
matters  worse,  her  eldest  daughter  fell  ill  with  typhoid 
fever,  and  lay  perishing  in  the  icy  garret  into  which  the 
wind  swept  through  every  chink  in  the  door  and  window. 
Marc,  who  in  a  discreet  way  had  already  given  alms  to  the 
poor  woman,  at  last  begged  his  wife  to  entrust  her  with 
some  work. 

Although  Genevieve  spoke  of  Fe>ou  even  as  those  whom 
she  met  at  her  grandmother's  house  spoke  of  him,  saying 
that  he  had  blasphemously  insulted  the  Sacred  Heart  and 
was  a  sacrilegist,  she  felt  stirred  by  the  story  of  his  wife's 
bitter  want.  '  Yes,'  she  said  to  her  husband,  '  Louise  needs 
a  new  frock;  I  have  the  stuff,  and  I  will  take  it  to  that 
woman.' 

'  Thank  you  for  her.      I  will  go  with  you,"  Marc  replied. 

On  the  following  day  they  repaired  together  to  Madame 
F^rou's  sordid  lodging,  whence  her  landlord  threatened  to 
expel  her  as  she  was  in  arrears  with  her  rent.  Her  eldest 
daughter  was  now  near  her  death ;  and  when  the  Froments 
arrived  she  herself  and  her  two  younger  girls  were  sobbing 
in  heartrending  fashion  amid  the  fearful  disorder  of  the 
place.  For  a  moment  Marc  and  Genevieve  remained  stand- 
ing there,  amazed  and  unable  to  understand  the  situation. 

'  You  have  n't  heard  it,  you  have  n't  heard  it,  have  you? ' 
Madame  Fe>ou  at  last  exclaimed.  'Well,  it  's  done  now; 
they  are  going  to  kill  him.  Ah!  he  guessed  it;  he  said  that 
those  brigands  would  end  by  having  his  skin.' 

She  went  on  speaking  in  a  disjointed  fashion  amid  her 
sobs,  and  Marc  was  thus  able  to  extract  from  her  the  dis- 
tressful story.  Fe>ou,  as  was  inevitable,  had  turned  out  a 
very  bad  soldier,  and  unfavourably  noted  by  his  superiors, 
treated  with  the  utmost  harshness  as  a  revolutionary,  he 
had  carried  a  quarrel  with  his  corporal  so  far  as  to  rush  on 


248  TRUTH 

the  latter  and  kick  and  pommel  him.  For  this  he  had  been 
court-martialled,  and  they  were  now  about  to  send  him  to 
a  military  bagnio  in  Algeria,  where  he  would  be  drafted  into 
one  of  those  disciplinary  companies,  among  which  the 
abominable  tortures  of  the  old  ages  are  still  practised. 

'  He  will  never  come  back,  they  will  murder  him! '  his 
wife  continued  in  a  fury.  '  He  wrote  to  bid  me  good-bye; 
he  knows  that  he  will  soon  be  killed.  .  .  .  And  what 
shall  I  do?  What  will  become  of  my  poor  children?  Ah! 
the  brigands,  the  brigands!  ' 

Marc  listened,  sorely  grieved,  unable  to  think  of  a  word 
of  consolation,  whereas  Genevieve  began  to  show  signs  of 
impatience.  '  But,  my  dear  Madame  Ferou,'  she  exclaimed, 
4  why  should  they  kill  your  husband?  The  officers  of  our 
army  are  not  in  the  habit  of  killing  their  men.  You  increase 
your  own  distress  by  your  unjust  thoughts.' 

4  They  are  brigands,  I  tell  you !  '  the  unhappy  woman  re- 
peated with  growing  violence.  '  What!  my  poor  Ferou 
starved  for  eight  years,  discharging  the  most  ungrateful 
duties,  and  he  is  taken  for  another  two  years  and  treated 
like  a  brute  beast,  simply  because  he  spoke  like  a  sensible 
man !  And  now  what  was  bound  to  happen  has  happened ; 
he  is  sent  to  the  galleys,  where  they  '11  end  by  murdering 
him  after  dragging  him  from  agony  to  agony!  No,  no,  I 
won't  have  it!  I  '11  go  and  tell  them  that  they  are  all  a  band 
of  brigands — brigands !  ' 

Marc  endeavoured  to  calm  her.  He,  all  kindliness  and 
equity,  was  shocked  by  such  excessive  social  iniquity.  But 
what  could  those  on  whom  it  recoiled,  the  wife  and  children, 
do,  crushed  as  they  were  beneath  the  millstone  of  tragic 
fate?  4  Be  reasonable,'  said  he.  '  We  will  try  to  do  some- 
thing; we  will  not  forsake  you.' 

But  Genevieve  had  become  icy  cold.  That  wretched 
home  where  the  mother  was  wringing  her  hands,  where  the 
poor  puny  girls  were  sobbing  and  lamenting,  no  longer  in- 
spired her  with  any  pity.  She  no  longer  even  saw  the  eldest 
daughter,  wrapped  in  the  shreds  of  a  blanket  and  looking 
so  ghastly  as  she  gazed  at  the  scene  with  dilated,  expres- 
sionless eyes,  unable  even  to  weep,  such  was  her  weakness. 
Erect  and  rigid,  still  carrying  the  little  parcel  formed  of  the 
stuff  for  Louise's  new  frock,  the  young  woman  slowly  said: 
4  You  must  place  yourself  in  the  hands  of  God.  Cease  to 
offend  Him,  for  He  might  punish  you  still  more.' 

A  laugh  of  terrible  scorn  came  from  Madame  Fe"rou:  'Oh! 


TRUTH  249 

God  is  too  busy  with  the  rich  to  pay  attention  to  the  poor ! ' 
she  cried.  'It  was  in  His  name  that  we  were  reduced  to 
this  misery,  it  is  in  His  name  that  they  are  going  to  mur- 
der my  poor  husband!' 

At  this  Genevieve  was  carried  away  by  anger:  'You  blas- 
pheme! You  deserve  no  help! '  said  she.  'If  you  had  only 
shown  a  little  religious  feeling,  I  know  persons  who  would 
have  helped  you  already.' 

'But  I  ask  you  for  nothing,  madame,'  the  poor  woman 
answered.  'Yes,  I  know  that  help  has  been  refused  me  be- 
cause I  do  not  go  to  confession.  Even  Abb6  Quandieu, 
who  is  so  charitable,  does  not  dare  to  include  me  among  his 
poor.  .  .  .  But  I  am  not  a  hypocrite,  I  simply  en- 
deavour to  earn  my  bread  by  work. ' 

'Well,  then,  apply  for  work  to  the  wretched  madmen  who 
regard  the  priests  and  the  officers  as  brigands! ' 

And  thereupon  Genevieve  hurried  away  in  a  passion,  carry- 
ing with  her  the  stuff  for  her  daughter's  frock.  Marc  was 
obliged  to  follow  her,  though  he  quivered  with  indignation. 
And  halfway  down  the  stairs  he  could  restrain  himself  no 
longer.  'You  have  just  done  a  bad  action! '  he  exclaimed. 

'How?' 

'How?  A  God  of  kindness  would  be  charitable  to  all. 
Your  God  of  wrath  and  punishment  is  but  a  monstrous 
phantasy.  .  .  .  It  is  not  necessary  that  one  should 
humble  oneself  to  deserve  assistance,  it  is  sufficient  that  one 
should  suffer.' 

'No,  no!  Those  who  sin  deserve  their  sufferings!  Let 
them  suffer  if  they  persist  in  impiety.  My  duty  is  to  do 
nothing  for  them.' 

That  same  evening,  when  they  were  alone,  the  quarrel 
began  afresh,  and  Marc,  on  his  side,  for  the  first  time  be- 
came violent,  unable  as  he  was  to  forgive  Genevieve' s  lack 
of  charity.  Hitherto  he  had  fancied  that  her  mind  alone 
was  threatened,  but  was  it  not  evident  now  that  her  heart 
also  would  be  spoilt?  And  that  night  irreparable  words 
were  spoken,  husband  and  wife  realised  what  an  abyss  had 
been  dug  between  them  by  invisible  hands.  Then  both  re- 
lapsed into  silence  in  the  black  room  full  of  grief  and  pain, 
and  on  the  morrow  they  did  not  exchange  a  word. 

Moreover,  a  source  of  constant  disputes,  one  which  was 
bound  to  make  rupture  inevitable,  had  now  sprung  up. 
Louise  would  be  soon  ten  years  old,  and  the  question  of 
sending  her  to  Abb£  Quandieu's  Catechism  classes,  in  order 


250  TRUTH 

that  she  might  be  prepared  for  her  first  Communion,  pre- 
sented itself.  Marc,  after  begging  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire 
to  exempt  his  daughter  from  all  religious  exercises,  had  no- 
ticed that  the  schoolmistress  took  no  account  of  his  request, 
but  crammed  the  child  with  orisons  and  canticles  as  she  did 
with  her  other  pupils.  But  he  was  obliged  to  close  his  eyes 
to  it,  for  he  realised  that  the  schoolmistress  was  only  too 
anxious  to  have  a  chance  of  appealing  to  Genevieve  on  the 
subject  in  order  to  create  trouble  in  his  home.  When  the 
Catechism  question  arose,  however,  he  desired  to  act  firmly, 
and  watched  for  an  opportunity  to  have  a  decisive  explana- 
tion with  Genevieve.  That  opportunity  presented  itself 
naturally  enough  on  the  day  when  Louise,  returning  from 
her  lessons,  said  to  her  mother  in  her  father's  presence: 
'Mamma,  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  told  me  to  ask  you  to  see 
Abb£  Quandieu,  so  that  he  may  put  my  name  down  for  his 
Catechism  class.' 

"All  right,  my  dear,  I  will  go  to  see  him  to-morrow.' 

Marc,  who  was  reading,  quickly  raised  his  head:  'Excuse 
me,  my  dear,  but  you  will  not  go  to  Abb£  Quandieu.' 

'Why  not  ?  ' 

'It  is  simple  enough.  I  do  not  wish  Louise  to  follow  the 
Catechism  lessons  because  I  do  not  wish  her  to  make  her 
first  Communion.' 

Genevieve  did  not  immediately  lose  her  temper,  but 
laughed  as  if  with  ironical  compassion:  'You  are  out  of  your 
senses,  my  friend,'  said  she.  'Not  make  her  first  Com- 
munion indeed!  Why  in  that  case  how  would  you  find  a 
husband  for  her?  What  a  casteless,  shameless  position  you 
would  give  her  throughout  her  life!  Besides,  you  allowed 
her  to  be  baptised,  you  allowed  her  to  learn  her  Bible  his- 
tory and  prayers,  so  it  is  illogical  on  your  part  to  forbid  the 
Catechism  and  the  Communion.' 

Marc  also  kept  his  temper  for  the  moment,  and  answered 
quietly:  'You  are  right,  I  was  weak,  and  for  that  very  reason 
I  am  resolved  to  be  weak  no  longer.  I  showed  all  tolerance 
for  your  belief  as  long  as  the  child  remained  quite  young, 
and  hung  about  your  skirts.  A  daughter,  it  is  said,  ought 
to  belong  more  particularly  to  her  mother,  and  I  am  willing 
that  it  should  be  so  until  the  time  comes  when  the  question 
of  the  girl's  moral  life,  her  whole  future,  presents  itself. 
Surely  the  father  then  has  a  right  to  intervene  ? ' 

Genevieve  waved  her  hand  impatiently  and  her  voice  be- 
gan to  tremble  as  she  answered :  '  I  wish  Louise  to  follow 


TRUTH  251 

the  Catechism  lessons,  you  don't  wish  her  to  do  so.  If  we 
have  equal  rights  over  the  child  we  may  go  on  disputing  for 
ever  without  reaching  a  solution.  What  I  desire  seems  to 
you  idiotic,  and  what  you  desire  appears  to  me  abominable. ' 

'  Oh!  what  I  desire,  what  I  desire!  My  desire  simply  is 
that  my  daughter  shall  not  be  prevented  from  exercising  her 
own  free  will  later  on.  .  .  .  The  question  now  is  to 
profit  by  her  childishness  in  order  to  deform  her  mind  and 
heart,  poison  her  with  lies,  and  render  her  for  ever  incap- 
able of  becoming  human  and  sensible.  And  that  is  what  I 
desire  to  prevent.  But  I  do  not  wish  to  impose  my  will  on 
her,  I  simply  wish  to  ensure  her  the  free  exercise  of  her  will 
at  a  later  date. ' 

'  But  how  do  you  provide  for  that  ?  What  is  to  be  done 
with  this  big  girl  ?  ' 

'  It  is  only  necessary  to  let  her  grow  up  and  to  open  her 
eyes  to  every  truth.  When  she  is  twenty  she  will  decide 
who  is  right — you  or  I ;  and  if  she  should  then  think  it  sensi- 
ble and  logical  she  will  revert  to  the  Catechism  and  make 
her  first  Communion.' 

At  this  Genevieve  exploded:  'You  are  really  mad!  You 
say  such  absurd  things  before  the  child  that  I  feel  ashamed 
of  you ! ' 

Marc  also  lost  patience.  '  Absurd,  my  poor  wife  ?  It  is 
your  notions  that  are  absurd!  And  I  won't  have  my  child's 
mind  perverted  with  such  absurdities.' 

'  Be  quiet!  be  quiet!  '  she  cried.  '  You  don't  know  what 
you  wrench  from  me  when  you  speak  like  that!  Yes,  you 
tear  away  all  my  love  for  you,  all  our  happiness,  which  I 
should  still  like  to  save!  .  .  .  But  how  are  we  to  agree 
if  words  no  longer  have  the  same  meaning  for  us,  if  what 
you  declare  to  be  absurd  is  for  me  the  divine  and  the  eter- 
nal ?  .  And  is  not  your  fine  logic  at  fault  ?  How 
can  Louise  choose  between  your  ideas  and  mine  if  you  now 
prevent  me  from  having  her  instructed  as  I  desire  ?  . 
I  do  not  prevent  you  from  telling  her  whatever  you  wish, 
but  I  must  be  free  to  take  her  to  the  Catechism  class. ' 

Marc  was  already  weakening:  '  I  know  the  theory,'  said 
he.  '  The  child  enlightened  by  both  the  father  and  the 
mother,  with  the  right  of  choosing  between  their  views  later 
on.  But  is  that  right  left  intact  when  a  full  course  of  re- 
ligious training,  aggravating  the  child's  long  Catholic  her- 
edity, deprives  her  of  all  power  of  thinking  and  acting 
freely  ?  The  father,  who  is  so  imperfectly  armed,  can  do 


TRUTH 

little  when  he  talks  truth  and  sense  to  a  girl  whose  senses 
and  whose  heart  are  disturbed  by  others.  And  when  she 
has  grown  up  amid  the  pomps  of  the  Church,  its  terrifying 
mysteries  and  its  mystical  absurdities,  it  is  too  late  for  her 
to  revert  to  a  little  sense — her  mind  has  been  warped  for 
ever. ' 

'  If  you  have  your  right  as  a  father, '  Genevieve  retorted 
violently,  'I  have  my  right  as  a  mother.  You  are  not  going 
to  take  my  daughter  from  me  when  she  is  only  ten  years  old 
and  still  has  so  much  need  of  me.  It  would  be  monstrous! 
I  am  an  honest  woman,  and  I  mean  to  make  Louise  an 
honest  woman  too.  .  .  .  She  shall  go  to  the  Catechism 
class,  and,  if  necessary,  I  myself  will  take  her! ' 

Marc,  who  had  risen  from  his  chair,  made  a  furious  ges- 
ture of  protest,  but  he  had  strength  enough  to  restrain  the 
violent,  the  supreme  words  which  would  have  precipitated 
immediate  rupture.  What  could  he  say,  what  could  he  do  ? 
As  usual,  he  recoiled  from  the  fearful  prospect  of  seeing  his 
home  destroyed,  his  happiness  changed  into  hourly  torture. 
He  still  loved  that  woman  who  showed  herself  so  narrow- 
minded  and  particularly  so  stubborn ;  there  still  lingered  on 
his  lips  the  taste  of  hers ;  and  he  could  not  forget,  he  could 
not  obliterate,  the  happy  days  of  their  early  married  life, 
the  powerful  bond  then  formed  between  them,  that  child 
who  was  the  flesh  of  their  flesh,  and  now  the  cause  of  their 
quarrels.  Like  many  others  before  him  he  felt  he  was 
driven  into  a  corner,  whence  he  could  not  extricate  himself 
unless  he  took  to  brutal  courses — tore  the  child  from  her 
mother's  arms,  and  plunged  the  house  into  desolation  and 
commotion  every  day.  And  there  was  too  much  gentleness, 
too  much  kindness,  in  his  nature ;  he  lacked  the  cold  energy 
that  was  requisite  for  a  struggle  in  which  his  own  heart  and 
the  hearts  of  those  he  loved  must  bleed.  On  that  field  then 
he  was  foredoomed  to  defeat. 

Louise  had  listened  in  silence,  without  moving,  to  the 
dispute  between  her  father  and  mother.  For  some  time 
past,  whenever  she  had  seen  them  thus  at  variance,  her 
large  brown  eyes  had  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  with  an 
expression  of  sad  and  increasing  surprise. 

'  But,  papa, '  she  now  said,  amid  the  painful  silence  which 
had  fallen,  '  why  don't  you  wish  me  to  go  to  the  Catechism 
class  ? ' 

She  was  very  tall  for  her  age,  and  had  a  calm  and  gentle 
face,  in  which  the  features  of  the  Duparques  and  the  Fro- 


TRUTH  253 

ments  were  blended.  Though  she  was  still  only  a  child,  she 
displayed  keen  intelligence,  and  a  thirst  for  information 
which  constantly  impelled  her  to  ply  her  father  with  ques- 
tions. And  she  worshipped  him,  and  showed  also  great 
affection  for  her  mother,  who  attended  to  all  her  wants  with 
a  kind  of  loving  passion. 

'  So  you  think,  papa, '  she  resumed,  '  that  if  things  which 
are  not  reasonable  are  told  me  at  the  Catechism  class  I  shall 
accept  them  ? ' 

Marc,  in  spite  of  his  emotion,  could  not  help  smiling. 
'  Reasonable  or  not, '  said  he,  '  you  must  of  necessity  accept 
them.' 

'  But  you  will  explain  them  to  me  ? ' 

'  No,  my  dear;  they  are,  and  must  remain,  unexplainable. ' 

'  But  you  explain  to  me  everything  I  ask  you  when  I  come 
back  from  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's  and  have  n't  under- 
stood some  lesson.  .  .  .  It  is  thanks  to  you  that  I  am 
often  the  first  of  my  class.' 

'  If  you  came  back  from  Abbe"  Quandieu's  there  would  be 
nothing  for  me  to  explain  to  you, '  Marc  answered,  '  for  the 
essential  characteristic  of  the  pretended  truths  of  the  Cathe- 
chism  is  that  they  are  not  accessible  to  our  reason.' 

'  Ah !  how  funny !  ' 

For  a  moment  Louise  remained  silent,  in  meditation,  her 
glance  wandering  far  away.  Then,  still  with  a  pensive  ex- 
pression on  her  face,  she  slowly  gave  utterance  to  her 
thoughts.  'It  's  funny;  when  things  have  n't  been  ex- 
plained to  me  and  I  don't  understand  them  I  recollect 
nothing  about  them,  it  is  as  if  they  did  n't  exist.  I  close 
my  eyes  and  see  nothing.  Everything  is  black.  And  then, 
however  much  I  may  try,  I  'm  the  last  of  the  class.' 

She  looked  charming  with  her  serious  little  face,  well 
balanced  as  she  already  was,  going  instinctively  towards  all 
that  was  good,  clear,  and  sensible.  Whenever  an  attempt 
was  made  to  force  into  her  head  things  whose  sense  escaped 
her,  or  which  seemed  to  her  to  be  wrong,  she  smiled  in  a 
quiet  way  and  passed  them  by. 

But  Genevieve  now  intervened,  saying  with  some  irrita- 
tion, '  If  your  father  cannot  explain  the  Catechism  to  you  I 
will  do  so.' 

At  this  Louise  immediately  ran  to  kiss  her  mother  as  if 
she  feared  she  had  offended  her:  '  That  's  it,  mamma,  you 
will  hear  me  my  lessons.  You  know  that  I  always  try  my 
best  to  understand.'  And,  turning  towards  her  father,  she 


254  TRUTH 

gaily  resumed,  '  You  see,  papa,  you  may  as  well  let  me  go  to 
the  Catechism,  particularly  as  you  say  yourself  that  one 
ought  to  learn  everything,  so  that  one  may  be  the  better  able 
to  judge  and  choose.' 

Then,  once  again,  Marc  gave  way,  having  neither  the 
strength  nor  the  means  to  act  otherwise.  He  reproached 
himself  with  his  weakness;  but  such  was  his  craving  for 
affection  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  be  otherwise  than 
weak  when  he  thought  of  his  devastated  home  where  the 
struggle  each  day  became  more  painful. 

The  rupture  was  soon  to  be  precipitated,  however,  by  a 
final  incident.  Years  had  elapsed  since  Marc's  arrival  at 
Maillebois,  and  there  had  been  all  sorts  of  changes  among 
his  pupils.  Se"bastien  Milhomme,  his  favourite,  now  fifteen 
years  of  age,  was  by  his  advice  preparing  himself  for  admis- 
sion into  the  Training  College  of  Beaumont,  having  secured 
his  elementary  certificate  already  in  his  twelfth  year.  Four 
other  boys  had  left  the  school  with  similar  certificates — the 
two  Doloirs  and  the  twin  Savins.  Auguste  Doloir  had  now 
embraced  his  father's  calling  as  a  mason,  while  his  brother 
Charles  had  been  apprenticed  to  a  locksmith.  As  for  Savin, 
he  had  declined  to  follow  Marc's  advice  and  make  school- 
masters of  his  sons,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  see  them  starve, 
said  he,  in  an  ungrateful  calling  which  everybody  held  in 
contempt.  So  he  had  proudly  placed  Achille  with  a  process- 
server  and  was  looking  about  him  for  some  petty  employ- 
ment which  would  suit  Philippe. 

Meantime,  the  hard-headed  Fernand  Bongard  had  quietly 
returned  to  his  father's  farm  to  till  the  ground,  having  failed 
to  gain  a  certificate,  though  in  Marc's  hands  he  had  acquired 
more  understanding  than  his  parents  possessed.  As  for  the 
girls  who  had  quitted  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  Angele  Bon- 
gard, who  was  more  intelligent  than  her  brother,  had  duly 
carried  a  certificate  to  the  farm,  where,  like  the  shrewd  am- 
bitious young  person  she  was,  quite  capable  of  keeping 
accounts,  she  dreamt  of  improving  her  position.  Then  Hor- 
tense  Savin,  still  without  a  certificate  at  sixteen  years  of  age, 
had  become  a  very  pretty  brunette,  extremely  devout  and 
sly.  She  had  remained  a  Handmaiden  of  the  Virgin,  and 
her  father  dreamt  of  a  fine  marriage  for  her,  though  there 
were  rumours  of  a  mysterious  seduction,  the  consequences 
of  which  she  each  day  found  it  more  difficult  to  hide. 

Of  course  several  new  boys  had  come  to  Marc's  school, 
replacing  their  elders  there.  There  was  another  little  Savin, 


TRUTH  255 

Jules,  whom  Marc  remembered  having  seen  as  an  infant  at 
the  time  of  the  Simon  case;  and  there  was  another  little 
Doloir,  Le"on,  born  subsequent  to  the  affair,  and  now  nearly 
seven  years  old.  Later  on  the  children's  children  would 
be  coming  to  the  school,  and  if  Marc  were  left  at  his  post 
perhaps  he  would  teach  them  also,  thus  facilitating  another 
step  to  humanity,  ever  on  the  march  towards  increase  of 
knowledge. 

But  Marc  was  particularly  concerned  about  one  of  his 
new  boys,  one  whom  he  had  greatly  desired  to  have  at  the 
school.  This  was  little  Joseph,  Simon's  son,  who  had  now 
almost  completed  his  eleventh  year.  For  a  long  time  Marc 
had  not  dared  to  expose  him  to  the  taunts  and  blows  of  the 
other  boys.  Then,  thinking  that  their  passions  had  calmed 
down  sufficiently,  he  had  made  the  venture,  applying  to 
Madame  Simon  and  the  Lehmanns,  and  promising  them  that 
he  would  keep  a  good  watch  over  the  lad.  For  three  years 
now  he  had  had  Joseph  in  the  school,  and,  after  defending 
him  against  all  sorts  of  vexations,  had  prevailed  on  the  other 
boys  to  treat  him  with  some  good  fellowship.  Indeed,  he 
even  made  use  of  the  lad  as  a  living  example  when  seeking 
to  inculcate  principles  of  tolerance,  dignity,  and  kindness. 

Joseph  was  a  very  handsome  boy,  in  whom  his  mother's 
beauty  was  blended  with  his  father's  intelligence;  and  the 
dreadful  story  of  his  father's  fate,  with  which  it  had  been 
necessary  to  acquaint  him,  seemed  to  have  ripened  him  be- 
fore his  time.  Usually  grave  and  reserved,  he  studied 
with  a  sombre  ardour,  intent  on  being  always  the  first  of 
his  class,  as  if,  by  that  triumph,  to  raise  himself  above  all 
outrage.  His  dream,  his  express  desire,  which  Marc  en- 
couraged, was  to  become  a  schoolmaster,  for  in  this  he  boy- 
ishly pictured  a  kind  of  revanche  and  rehabilitation.  No 
doubt  it  was  Joseph's  fervour,  the  passionate  gravity  of  that 
clever  and  handsome  boy,  which  the  more  particularly 
struck  little  Louise,  whose  senior  he  was  by  nearly  three 
years.  At  all  events  she  became  his  great  friend,  and  they 
were  well  pleased  whenever  they  found  themselves  together. 

At  times  Marc  kept  Joseph  after  lessons,  and  at  times 
also  his  sister  Sarah  came  to  fetch  him.  Then,  if  Se"bastien 
Milhomme,  as  was  sometimes  the  case,  happened  to  be  at 
Marc's,  a  delightful  hour  was  spent.  The  four  children 
agreed  so  well  that  they  never  quarrelled.  Sarah,  whom 
her  mother  feared  to  confide  to  others  as  she  did  her  boy, 
was,  at  ten  years  of  age,  a  most  charming  child,  gentle  and 


256  TRUTH 

loving;  and  Sebastian,  five  years  her  elder,  treated  her  with 
the  playful  affection  of  an  elder  brother.  Genevieve  alone 
manifested  violent  displeasure  when  the  four  children  hap- 
pened to  meet  in  her  rooms.  She  found  in  this  another 
cause  for  anger  with  her  husband.  Why  had  he  brought 
those  Jews  into  their  home  ?  There  was  no  need  for  her 
daughter  to  compromise  herself  by  associating  with  the  chil- 
dren of  that  horrid  criminal  who  had  been  sent  to  the  gal- 
leys! Thus  this  also  helped  to  bring  about  quarrels  in  the 
home. 

At  last  came  the  fated  catastrophe.  One  evening,  when 
the  four  young  people  were  playing  together  after  lessons, 
Se"bastien  suddenly  felt  ill.  He  staggered  as  if  intoxicated, 
and  Marc  had  to  take  him  to  his  mother's.  On  the  mor- 
row the  boy  was  unable  to  leave  his  bed,  a  terrible  attack 
of  typhoid  fever  prostrated  him,  and  for  three  weeks  his 
life  hung  in  the  balance.  It  was  a  frightful  time  for  his 
mother,  Madame  Alexandre,  who  remained  at  his  bedside, 
no  longer  setting  foot  in  the  shop  downstairs.  Moreover, 
since  the  Simon  affair  she  had  gradually  withdrawn  from 
it,  leaving  her  sister-in-law,  Madame  Edouard,  to  conduct 
the  business  in  accordance  with  their  joint  interests.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  Madame  Edouard,  who  was  the  man  in  their 
partnership,  was  designated  for  the  directorship  by  the  tri- 
umph of  the  clerical  party.  The  custom  of  the  secular 
school  was  sufficiently  insured  by  the  presence  of  Madame 
Alexandre  behind  her,  and  for  her  own  part  she  intended 
to  increase  her  business  among  the  devotees  of  the  town 
with  the  help  of  her  son  Victor,  who  had  lately  left  the 
Brothers'  school. 

He  was  now  a  big,  squarely-built  youth  of  seventeen, 
with  a  large  head,  a  harsh  face,  and  fierce  eyes.  He  had 
failed  to  secure  an  elementary  certificate,  having  always 
shown  himself  an  execrable  pupil ;  and  he  now  dreamt  of  en- 
listing and  becoming  a  general  as  in  the  old  days,  when  he 
had  played  at  war  with  his  cousin  Se'bastien,  taken  him 
prisoner,  and  pommelled  him  passionately.  Meantime,  as 
he  was  not  old  enough  for  soldiering,  he  lived  in  idleness, 
making  his  escape  from  the  shop  as  often  as  possible — for 
he  hated  having  to  stand  behind  a  counter  and  sell  paper 
and  pens — and  roaming  through  Maillebois  in  the  company 
of  his  old  schoolfellow  Polydor,  the  son  of  Souquet  the  road- 
mender,  and  the  nephew  of  Pelagic,  Madame  Duparque's 
servant. 


TRUTH  257 

Polydor,  a  pale  and  artful  youth,  whose  taste  for  idleness 
was  extraordinary,  desired  to  become  an  Ignorantine  by 
way  of  flattering  the  inclinations  of  his  aunt,  from  whom  he 
thereby  extracted  little  presents.  Moreover,  by  embracing 
this  religious  calling  he  would  not  have  to  break  stones  on 
the  roads  as  his  father  did,  and,  in  particular,  he  would 
escape  barrack-life,  the  thought  of  which  quite  horrified 
him.  Though  in  other  respects  Victor  and  Polydor  had 
different  tastes,  they  were  in  full  agreement  as  to  the  delight 
of  roaming  about  from  morn  till  night  with  their  hands  in 
their  pockets,  to  say  nothing  of  their  goings  on  with  the 
little  hussies  of  the  factory  quarter  of  the  town,  whom  they 
met  in  the  fields  near  the  Verpille.  In  this  wise,  Victor 
being  always  out  and  about,  and  Madame  Alexandre  remain- 
ing beside  her  son,  Madame  Edouard,  since  S6bastien  had 
fallen  so  seriously  ill,  found  herself  quite  without  assistance 
in  the  shop,  where  she  busied  herself  with  her  customers 
and  gaily  counted  up  her  takings,  which  were  often  large. 

Marc  went  every  evening  to  ascertain  the  condition  of 
his  pupil,  and  thus  he  became  a  daily  spectator  of  a  heart- 
rending drama — the  bitter  grief  of  a  mother  who  saw  death 
taking  her  son  a  little  further  from  her  every  hour.  That 
gentle,  fair,  pale-faced  Madame  Alexandre,  who  had  loved 
her  husband  passionately,  had  been  leading  a  cloistered 
life,  as  it  were,  ever  since  his  death,  all  her  restrained  pas- 
sion going  to  that  son  of  hers,  who  was  fair  and  gentle  like 
herself.  Fondled,  almost  spoilt  by  that  loving  mother,  Se- 
bastien  regarded  her  with  a  kind  of  filial  idolatry,  as  if  she 
were  a  divine  mother  whom  he  could  never  requite  for  all 
her  delightful  gifts.  They  were  united  by  a  strong,  a 
powerful  bond  of  tender  affection,  one  of  those  infinite 
affections  in  which  two  beings  mingle  and  blend  to  such  a 
point  that  neither  can  quit  the  other  without  wrenching 
away  his  or  her  heart. 

When  Marc  reached  the  little  dark,  close  room  over  the 
stationery  shop,  he  often  found  Madame  Alexandre  forcing 
back  her  tears  and  striving  to  smile  at  her  son,  who  lay 
there  already  emaciated  and  burning  with  fever. 

'  Well,  S^bastien,  are  you  better  to-day? '  the  master 
would  ask. 

'Oh!  no,  Monsieur  Froment,  I  'm  no  better  at  all — no 
better  at  all. ' 

He  could  scarcely  speak,  his  voice  was  faint,  his  breath 
came  short.  But  the  red-eyed,  shuddering  mother  ex- 


258  TRUTH 

claimed  gaily:  '  Don't  listen  to  him,  Monsieur  Froment,  he 
is  much  better,  we  shall  pull  him  through  it.' 

When,  however,  she  had  escorted  the  schoolmaster  to 
the  landing,  and  stood  there  with  him  after  closing  the  door 
of  the  room,  she  broke  down. 

'Ah!  God,  he  is  lost,  my  poor  child  is  lost!  Is  it  not 
abominable,  so  strong  and  handsome  as  he  was!  His  poor 
face  is  reduced  to  nothing;  he  has  only  his  eyes  left!  Ah! 
God,  God,  I  feel  I  shall  die  with  him. ' 

But  she  stifled  her  cries,  roughly  wiped  away  her  tears, 
and  put  on  her  smile  once  more  before  returning  to  the 
chamber  of  suffering  where  she  spent  hours  and  hours, 
without  sleep,  without  help,  ever  fighting  against  death. 

One  evening  Marc  found  her  sobbing  on  her  knees  beside 
the  bed,  her  face  close  pressed  to  the  sheets.  Her  son 
could  no  longer  hear  or  see  her.  Since  the  previous  night 
he  had  been  overpowered  by  his  malady,  seized  with  de- 
lirium. And  now  that  he  had  neither  ears  to  hear  her  nor 
eyes  to  see  her,  she  abandoned  herself  to  her  frightful  grief, 
and  cried  it  aloud:  '  My  child,  my  child!  What  have  I 
done  that  my  child  should  be  stolen  from  me?  So  good  a 
son,  who  was  all  my  heart  as  I  was  his!  What  can  I  have 
done  then?  What  can  I  have  done? ' 

She  rose  and,  grasping  Marc's  hands,  pressed  them  wildly. 
'  Tell  me,  monsieur,  you  who  are  just,'  said  she.  '  Is  it  not 
impossible  to  suffer  so  much,  to  be  stricken  like  this  if  one 
be  free  from  all  blame?  ...  It  would  be  monstrous  to 
be  punished  when  one  has  done  no  wrong.  Is  it  not  so? 
This,  then,  can  only  be  an  expiation,  and  if  that  were  true, 
ah!  if  I  knew,  if  I  knew  it  were  so!  .  .  .' 

She  seemed  a  prey  to  some  horrible  struggle.  For  some 
days  past  anguish  had  been  making  her  restless.  Yet  she 
did  not  speak  out  that  evening;  it  was  only  on  the  morrow 
that,  on  Marc's  arrival,  she  hastened  towards  him,  as  if 
carried  away  by  an  eager  desire  to  have  it  all  over.  In  the 
bed  near  her  lay  Sebastien,  scarce  able  to  breathe. 

'  Listen,  Monsieur  Froment,'  said  she,  '  I  must  confess 
myself  to  you.  The  doctor  has  just  left,  my  son  is  dying, 
only  a  prodigy  can  save  him.  .  .  .  And  now  my  fault 
stifles  me.  It  seems  to  me  that  it  is  I  who  am  killing  my 
son — I  who  am  punished  by  his  death  for  having  made  him 
speak  falsely  long  ago,  and  for  having  clung  so  stubbornly 
to  that  falsehood  later  on,  in  order  to  have  peace  and  quiet- 
ness in  my  home,  when  another,  an  innocent  man,  was 


TRUTH  259 

suffering  the  worst  torture.  .  .  .  Ah !  for  many,  many 
days  the  struggle  has  been  going  on  within  me,  lacerating 
my  heart! ' 

Marc  listened,  amazed,  not  daring  as  yet  to  give  a  mean- 
ing to  her  words. 

'  You  remember,  Monsieur  Froment,'  she  resumed,  '  you 
remember  that  unhappy  man  Simon,  the  schoolmaster  who 
was  condemned  for  the  murder  of  little  Z^phirin.  For 
more  than  eight  years  he  has  been  in  penal  servitude,  and 
you  have  often  told  me  of  all  he  suffered  yonder,  horrible 
things  which  made  me  feel  quite  ill.  ...  I  should 
have  liked  to  speak  out — yes,  I  swear  it !  I  was  often  on 
the  point  of  relieving  my  conscience,  for  remorse  haunted 
me  so  dreadfully.  .  .  .  But  cowardice  came  over  me ; 
I  thought  of  my  son's  peace,  of  all  the  worries  I  should 
cause  him.  .  .  .  Ah!  how  stupid,  how  foolish  I  was; 
I  remained  silent  for  the  sake  of  his  happiness,  and  now 
death  is  taking  him  from  me — taking  him,  it  's  certain,  be- 
cause I  wrongly  remained  silent!  ' 

She  paused,  gesticulating  wildly,  as  if  Justice,  the  eternal, 
were  falling  on  her  like  a  thunderbolt. 

'  And  so,  Monsieur  Froment,  I  must  relieve  my  mind. 
Perhaps  there  is  still  time — perhaps  Justice  will  take  pity 
on  me  if  I  repair  my  fault.  .  .  .  You  remember  the 
writing  slip,  and  the  search  which  was  made  for  another 
copy  of  it.  On  the  day  after  the  crime  Sebastien  told  you 
that  he  had  seen  one  in  the  hands  of  his  cousin  Victor,  who 
had  brought  it  from  the  Brothers'  school;  and  that  was 
true.  But  that  same  day  we  were  frightened  to  such  a 
point  that  my  sister-in-law  compelled  my  son  to  tell  a  false- 
hood by  saying  that  he  had  made  a  mistake.  ...  A 
long  while  afterwards  I  found  that  slip  forgotten  in  an  old 
copybook  which  Victor  had  given  to  Sebastien,  and  later 
Sebastien,  who  felt  worried  by  his  falsehood,  acknowledged 
it  to  you.  When  he  came  home  and  told  me  of  his  confes- 
sion, I  was  filled  with  alarm,  and  in  my  turn  I  lied— first  of 
all  to  him,  saying,  in  order  to  quiet  his  scruples,  that  the 
paper  no  longer  existed,  as  I  had  destroyed  it.  And  that 
assuredly  is  the  wrong-doing  for  which  I  am  punished. 
The  paper  still  exists;  I  never  dared  to  burn  it;  some  re- 
maining honesty  restrained  me.  And  here,  here  it  is,  Mon- 
sieur Froment!  Rid  me  of  it,  rid  me  of  that  abominable 
paper,  for  it  is  that  which  has  brought  misfortune  and  death 
into  the  house! ' 


260  TRUTH 

She  hastened  to  a  wardrobe,  and  from  under  a  pile  of 
linen  she  drew  Victor's  old  copybook,  in  which  the  writing 
slip  had  been  slumbering  for  eight  years  past.  Marc  looked 
at  it,  thunderstruck.  At  last,  there  was  the  document  which 
he  had  believed  to  be  destroyed,  there  was  the  '  new  fact ' 
which  he  had  sought  so  long!  The  slip  he  held  appeared 
to  be  in  all  respects  similar  to  the  one  which  had  figured  at 
the  trial.  There  were  the  words  'Aimez  vous  les  uns  les 
autres ' ;  there  was  the  illegible  paraph  recalling  the  one 
which  the  experts  had  pretended  to  identify  with  Simon's 
initials ;  and  it  was  difficult  to  contend  that  the  slip  had  not 
come  from  the  Brothers'  school,  for  Victor  himself  had 
copied  it  in  his  book,  a  whole  page  of  which  was  filled  with 
the  words  inscribed  on  it.  But  all  at  once  Marc  was  dazed. 
There,  in  the  left-hand  corner  of  the  slip — the  corner  miss- 
ing in  the  copy  which  had  been  used  in  evidence  at  the  trial 
— was  an  imprint,  quite  plain  and  quite  intact,  of  the  stamp 
with  which  the  Brothers  stamped  everything  belonging  to 
their  school.  A  sudden  light  was  thus  shed  on  the  affair: 
somebody  had  torn  away  the  corner  of  the  copy  found  in 
Zephirin's  room  in  order  to  annihilate  the  stamp  and  put 
Justice  off  the  scent. 

Quivering  with  excitement,  carried  away  by  gratitude  and 
sympathy,  Marc  grasped  the  poor  mother's  hands.  '  Ah, 
madame,'  he  exclaimed,  '  you  have  done  a  great  and  worthy 
action,  and  may  death  take  pity  and  restore  your  son  to 
you! ' 

At  that  moment  they  perceived  that  S^bastien,  who  had 
given  no  sign  of  consciousness  since  the  previous  evening, 
had  just  opened  his  eyes  and  was  looking  at  them.  They 
felt  profoundly  stirred.  The  ailing  lad  evidently  recognised 
Marc,  but  he  was  not  yet  free  from  delirium.  '  What 
beautiful  sunshine,  Monsieur  Froment,5  he  stammered  in  a 
faint  voice.  '  I  '11  get  up  and  you  '11  take  me  with  you. 
I  '11  help  you  to  give  lessons.' 

His  mother  ran  to  him  and  kissed  him  wildly.  '  Make 
haste  to  get  well,  make  haste  to  get  well,  my  boy!  Neither 
of  us  must  ever  more  tell  a  falsehood,  we  must  be  always 
good  and  just!  ' 

As  Marc  quitted  the  room  he  found  that  Madame  Edouard, 
hearing  a  noise,  had  come  upstairs.  The  door  having  re- 
mained open  she  had  witnessed  the  whole  scene,  and  had 
seen  him  place  her  son's  old  copybook  and  the  slip  in  the 
inner  pocket  of  his  coat.  She  followed  him  down  the  stairs 


TRUTH  26l 

in  silence,  but  when  they  reached  the  shop  she  stopped  him, 
saying,  '  I  am  in  despair,  Monsieur  Froment.  You  must 
not  judge  us  severely;  we  are  only  two  poor  lone  women, 
and  find  it  difficult  indeed  to  earn  a  little  competence  for 
our  old  age.  ...  I  don't  ask  you  to  give  me  that  paper 
back.  You  are  going  to  make  use  of  it,  and  I  cannot  op- 
pose you:  I  understand  it  fully.  Only  this  is  a  real  catas- 
trophe for  us.  ...  And  again,  do  not  think  me  a  bad 
woman  if  I  try  to  save  our  little  business. ' 

Indeed  she  was  not  a  bad  womary  't  merely  happened 
that  she  had  no  faith,  no  passion,  apan.  -ora  the  prosperity 
of  that  humble  stationery  business.  She  had  already  re- 
flected that  if  the  secular  school  should  gain  the  day,  it 
would  merely  be  necessary  for  her  to  retire  into  the  back- 
ground and  allow  Madame  Alexandre  to  direct  the  shop. 
Nevertheless,  this  was  hardly  a  pleasant  prospect,  given  her 
business  instincts  and  her  fondness  for  domineering  over 
others.  So  she  strove  to  lighten  the  catastrophe  as  far  as 
possible. 

'  You  might  content  yourself  with  utilising  the  slip,  with- 
out producing  my  son's  copybook,'  said  she.  'Besides,  it 
has  just  occurred  to  me  that  you  might  arrange  a  story  and 
say,  for  instance,  that  I  happened  to  find  the  slip  and  gave 
it  to  you.  That  would  show  us  in  a  suitable  rdle,  and  we 
could  then  openly  pass  over  to  your  side,  with  the  certainty 
that  you  would  be  victorious.' 

In  spite  of  his  emotion  Marc  could  not  refrain  from 
smiling.  '  It  is,  I  think,  madame,  easiest  and  most  honour- 
able to  tell  the  truth,'  said  he.  '  Your  rdle  will  nevertheless 
remain  praiseworthy.' 

At  this  she  seemed  to  feel  somewhat  reassured.  '  Really,' 
she  replied,  '  you  think  so?  Of  course  I  ask  nothing  better 
than  that  the  truth  should  become  known  if  we  do  not  have 
to  suffer  from  it." 

Marc  had  complaisantly  taken  the  copybook  and  the  slip 
from  his  pocket  in  order  to  show  her  exactly  what  he  was 
carrying  away.  And  she  was  telling  him  that  she  fully 
recognised  both  book  and  slip  when,  all  at  once,  her  son 
Victor  came  in  from  some  escapade,  accompanied  by  his 
friend  Polydor  Souquet.  While  twisting  about  and  laugh- 
ing over  some  prank  known  to  themselves  alone,  the  two 
young  fellows  glanced  at  the  copy-slip,  and  Polydor  at  once 
expressed  the  liveliest  surprise. 

'  Hallo!'  he  exclaimed,  '  the  paper! ' 


262  TRUTH 

But  when  Marc  quickly  raised  his  head,  struck  as  he  was 
by  that  exclamation,  and  divining  that  a  little  more  of  the 
truth  lurked  behind  it,  the  youth  reassumed  his  usual  sleepy, 
hypocritical  expression  and  tried  to  recall  his  words. 

'  What  paper?     Do  you  know  it,  then? '  Marc  asked  him. 

'  I?  No.  ...  I  said  the  paper  because — because 
it  is  a  paper. ' 

Marc  could  draw  nothing  further  from  him.  As  for 
Victor,  he  continued  to  sneer  as  if  he  were  amused  to  find 
that  old  affair  cropping  up  once  more.  Ah !  yes,  the  copy- 
slip  which  he  had  brought  home  from  school  one  day  long 
ago,  and  which  that  little  fool  S^bastien  had  made  such  a 
fuss  about!  But  Madame  Edouard  still  felt  ashamed,  and 
when  Marc  withdrew  she  accompanied  him  outside  to  beg 
him  to  do  all  he  could  to  spare  them  worry.  She  had  just 
thought  of  General  Jarousse,  their  cousin,  who  would  cer- 
tainly not  be  pleased  if  the  affair  were  revived.  He  had 
formerly  done  them  the  great  honour  to  call  on  them  and 
explain  that  when  one's  country  might  suffer  from  the  truth 
being  made  known  it  was  infinitely  preferable  and  far  more 
glorious  to  tell  a  lie.  And  if  General  Jarousse  should  be 
angered,  whatever  would  she  do  with  her  son  Victor,  who 
relied  on  his  relative's  protection  to  become  a  general  in  his 
turn? 

That  evening  Marc  was  to  dine  at  Madame  Duparque's, 
whither  he  still  repaired  at  times,  as  he  was  unwilling  that 
Genevieve  should  always  go  alone.  Polydor's  exclamation 
still  haunted  him,  for  he  felt  that  the  truth  lurked  behind 
it;  and  it  so  happened  that  when  he  reached  the  ladies' 
house,  with  Genevieve  and  Louise,  he  caught  sight  of  the 
young  fellow  whispering  eagerly  to  his  aunt  Pelagic  in  the 
kitchen.  Moreover,  the  ladies'  greeting  was  so  frigid  that 
Marc  divined  in  it  some  threat.  During  the  last  few  years 
Madame  Berthereau,  Genevieve's  mother,  had  been  declin- 
ing visibly,  ever  in  an  ailing  state,  full  also  of  a  kind  of 
despairing  sadness  amid  her  resignation.  But  Madame 
Duparque,  the  grandmother,  though  she  was  now  seventy- 
one,  remained  combative,  terrible,  implacable  in  her  faith. 
In  order  that  Marc  might  fully  understand  for  what  excep- 
tional reasons  she  thought  it  right  to  receive  him,  she  never 
invited  anybody  else  when  he  dined  at  her  house.  By  this 
course  she  hoped  also  to  make  him  understand  that  his 
position  was  that  of  a  pariah,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to 
ask  honest  folk  to  meet  him. 


TRUTH  263 

That  evening,  then,  as  on  previous  occasions,  silence  and 
embarrassment  reigned  during  the  meal,  and  by  the  hostile 
demeanour  of  the  others,  and  particularly  by  the  brusque- 
ness  of  Pelagic,  who  served  at  table,  Marc  became  fully 
convinced  that  some  storm  was  about  to  burst  on  him. 
Until  the  dessert  was  served,  however,  Madame  Duparque 
restrained  herself  like  a  bourgeoise  intent  on  playing  her  part 
as  mistress  of  the  house  correctly.  At  last,  when  Pelagic 
came  in  with  some  apples  and  pears,  she  said  to  her:  '  You 
may  keep  your  nephew  to  dinner,  I  give  you  permission. ' 

The  old  servant  in  her  scolding,  aggressive  voice  replied : 
'  Ah !  the  poor  boy  needs  to  recruit  himself  after  the  vio- 
lence that  was  done  him  this  afternoon.' 

At  this  Marc  suddenly  understood  everything.  The 
ladies  had  been  made  acquainted  with  his  discovery  of  the 
copy-slip  by  Polydor,  who,  for  some  reason  which  remained 
obscure,  had  hastened  to  tell  everything  to  his  aunt. 

'  Oh,  oh !  '  said  Marc,  who  could  not  help  laughing,  '  who 
was  it  that  wanted  to  do  violence  to  Polydor?  Was  it  I,  by 
chance,  when  the  dear  boy  ventured  to  bamboozle  me  so 
pleasantly  by  feigning  stupidity  at  Mesdames  Milhommes' 
this  afternoon?  ' 

Madame  Duparque,  however,  would  not  allow  such  a 
serious  matter  to  be  treated  in  that  ironical  fashion.  She 
proceeded  to  unbosom  herself  without  any  show  of  anger, 
but  in  that  rigid,  cutting  manner  of  hers  which  suffered  no 
reply.  Was  it  possible  that  the  husband  of  her  dear  Gene- 
vieve  still  thought  of  reviving  the  abominable  affair  of  that 
man  Simon,  that  vile  assassin,  who  had  been  so  justly  con- 
demned, who  deserved  no  pity  whatever,  and  who  ought  in- 
deed to  have  been  guillotined?  True,  there  was  a  monstrous 
legend  of  his  innocence  which  evil-minded  folk  hoped  to 
make  use  of  in  order  to  shake  religion  and  hand  France 
over  to  the  Jews.  And  now,  after  obstinately  searching 
among  all  that  filth,  Marc  pretended  that  he  had  found  the 
proof,  the  famous  new  fact,  which  had  been  announced  so 
many  times  already.  A  fine  proof  indeed,  a  strip  of  paper, 
which  had  come  nobody  knew  whence  nor  how,  the  inven- 
tion of  a  pack  of  children  who  either  lied  or  were  mistaken! 

'Grandmother,'  Marc  quietly  answered,  'it  was  agreed 
that  we  should  not  speak  of  those  matters  any  more.  I  have 
not  ventured  to  make  the  slightest  allusion  to  them;  it  is 
you  who  begin  again.  But  what  good  can  a  dispute  do? 
My  conviction  is  absolute.' 


264  TRUTH 

'  And  you  know  the  real  culprit,  and  you  intend  to  de- 
nounce him  to  justice? '  asked  the  old  lady,  quite  beside 
herself. 

'Certainly.' 

At  this  Pelagic,  who  was  beginning  to  clear  away,  could 
not  restrain  herself.  '  In  any  case  it  is  n't  Brother  Gorgias, 
I  can  answer  for  that!  '  she  suddenly  cried. 

Marc,  enlightened  by  these  words,  turned  towards  her. 
'  Why  do  you  say  that? '  he  asked. 

'  Because  on  the  evening  of  the  crime  Brother  Gorgias 
accompanied  my  nephew  Polydor  to  his  father's,  on  the 
road  to  Jonville,  and  got  back  to  the  school  before  eleven 
o'clock.  Polydor  and  other  witnesses  testified  to  that  at 
the  trial. ' 

Marc  was  still  gazing  fixedly  at  the  old  woman,  but  his 
mind  was  busy  at  work.  That  which  he  had  long  suspected 
was  becoming  a  moral  certainty.  He  could  picture  the 
Brother  accompanying  Polydor,  then  returning  homeward, 
pausing  before  Ze"phirin's  open  window,  and  talking  to  the 
boy.  At  last  he  climbed  over  the  low  window  bar,  the  bet- 
ter perhaps  to  see  the  pictures  which  the  lad  had  set  out  on 
his  table.  Then,  however,  came  the  horrid  impulse,  abom- 
inable madness  .  .  .  and,  the  child  strangled,  the  mur- 
derer fled  by  the  window,  which  he  still  left  wide  open.  It 
was  from  his  own  pocket  that  he  had  taken  that  copy  of  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  to  use  it  as  a  gag,  never  noticing  in  his 
perturbation  that  the  copy-slip  was  with  the  newspaper. 
And  on  the  morrow,  when  the  crime  was  discovered,  it  was 
Father  Philibin,  who,  finding  himself  unable  to  destroy  the 
slip,  as  Mignot  had  seen  it,  had  been  obliged  to  content 
himself  with  tearing  away  the  corner  on  which  the  stamp 
was  impressed,  thus  at  all  events  removing  all  positive  proof 
of  the  place  whence  the  slip  had  come. 

Slowly  and  gravely  Marc  answered  Pelagic:  'Brother 
Gorgias  is  the  culprit,  everything  proves  it,  and  I  swear  it 
is  so! ' 

Indignant  protests  arose  around  the  table.  Madame 
Duparque  was  stifling  with  indignation.  Madame  Berthe- 
reau,  whose  mournful  eyes  went  from  her  daughter  to  her 
son-in-law,  whose  rupture  she  sorely  dreaded,  made  a  ges- 
ture of  supreme  despair.  And  while  little  Louise,  who  paid 
great  attention  to  her  father's  words,  remained  there  quietly, 
never  stirring,  Genevieve  sprang  to  her  feet  and  quitted  the 
table,  saying: 


TRUTH  265 

'  You  would  do  better  to  hold  your  tongue !  It  will  soon 
be  quite  impossible  for  me  to  remain  near  you :  you  will  end 
by  making  me  hate  you! ' 

Later  that  same  evening,  when  Louise  had  gone  to  sleep 
and  the  husband  and  the  wife  also  lay  in  bed,  there  came  a 
moment  of  profound  silence  in  their  dark  room.  Since  din- 
ner neither  had  spoken  to  the  other.  But  Marc  was  always 
the  first  to  try  to  make  friends,  for  he  could  not  bear  the 
suffering  which  their  quarrels  brought  him.  Now,  however, 
when  he  gently  sought  to  embrace  Genevieve,  she  nervously 
pushed  him  away,  quivering  as  if  with  repulsion. 

'  No:  let  me  be!  ' 

Hurt  by  her  manner,  he  did  not  insist.  And  the  silence 
fell  heavily  again.  At  last  she  resumed:  'There  is  one  thing 
I  have  not  yet  told  you.  ...  I  believe  that  I  am 
enceinte. ' 

At  this,  full  of  happy  emotion,  her  husband  drew  near  to 
her  again,  anxious  to  press  her  to  his  heart.  'Oh!  my  dear, 
dear  wife,  what  good  news!  Now  we  shall  indeed  belong 
to  each  other  once  more.' 

But  she  freed  herself  from  his  clasp  with  even  more  im- 
patience than  before,  as  if  his  presence  near  her  brought 
her  real  suffering.  '  No,  no,  let  me  be,'  she  repeated;  '  I 
am  not  well.  I  sha'n't  be  able  to  sleep;  it  fidgets  me  to  feel 
you  stirring  near  me.  ...  It  will  be  better  to  have 
two  beds  if  things  go  on  like  this.' 

Not  another  word  passed  between  them.  They  lapsed 
into  silence,  speaking  neither  of  the  Simon  affair  nor  of  the 
tidings  which  Genevieve  had  so  abruptly  announced.  Only 
the  sound  of  their  heavy  breathing  was  to  be  heard  in  the 
dark  and  lifeless  room.  Neither  was  asleep,  but  neither 
could  penetrate  the  other's  anxious,  painful  thoughts;  it  was 
as  if  they  inhabited  two  different  worlds,  parted  by  a  dis- 
tance of  many  thousand  leagues.  And  vague  sobs  seemed 
to  come  from  far  away,  from  the  very  depths  of  the  black 
and  dolorous  night,  bewailing  the  death  of  their  love. 


IV 

AFTER  a  few  days'  reflection  Marc  made  up  his  mind 
and  requested  David  to  meet  him  one  evening  at 
the  Lehmanns'  in  the  Rue  du  Trou. 

For  nearly  ten  years  the  Lehmanns  had  been  living  in 
their  dim  and  damp  little  house,  amid  public  execration. 
When,  as  sometimes  happened,  bands  of  clericals  and  anti- 
Semites  came  down  and  threatened  the  shop,  they  hastily 
put  up  the  shutters  and  continued  working  by  the  smoky 
light  of  two  lamps.  All  their  Maillebois  customers,  even 
their  co-religionists,  having  forsaken  them,  they  were  de- 
pendent on  the  piece-work  they  did  for  Paris  clothiers 
dealing  in  ready-made  goods.  And  that  hard  and  ill-paid 
work  kept  old  Lehmann  and  his  mournful  wife  bent  on 
their  board  for  fourteen  hours  a  day,  and  yielded  scarcely 
enough  money  to  provide  food  for  themselves,  Rachel,  and 
her  children,  all  of  whom  were  huddled  there  in  dismal  dis- 
tress, without  a  joy  or  a  hope  in  life.  Even  now,  after  so 
many  years,  passing  pedestrians  spat  on  their  doorstep  to 
show  how  fully  they  loathed  and  hated  that  filthy  den, 
whither,  so  the  legend  ran,  Simon  the  murderer  had  brought 
Ze"phirin's  blood,  while  it  was  still  warm,  to  use  it  in  some 
vile  deed  of  witchcraft.  And  nowadays  to  that  abode  of 
intense  wretchedness  and  deep,  cloistered  grief  came 
Simon's  letters,  briefer  and  more  infrequent  than  formerly, 
yet  still  and  ever  telling  the  tale  of  the  innocent  man's  long 
agony. 

Those  letters  alone  had  the  power  of  stirring  Rachel  into 
life,  of  drawing  her  from  the  torpor  and  resignation  in  which 
she  spent  most  of  her  days.  Her  once  beautiful  countenance 
was  now  but  a  ruin,  ravaged  by  her  tears.  She  lived  only 
for  her  children:  Sarah,  whom  she  still  kept  beside  her, 
fearing  to  expose  her  to  the  insults  of  the  malicious,  and 
Joseph,  whom  Marc  defended  at  the  school.  The  dreadful 
story  of  their  father's  fate  had  long  been  hidden  from  them, 
but  it  had  been  necessary  to  tell  them  the  truth  at  last, 

266 


TRUTH  267 

partly  in  order  to  spare  them  much  painful  doubt  and  cogi- 
tation. Nowadays,  whenever  a  letter  arrived  from  the 
penal  settlement  yonder,  it  was  read  in  their  presence ;  and 
those  bitter  trials  inculcated  virility  of  nature  in  them,  and 
helped  to  ripen  their  budding  minds.  After  each  perusal 
their  mother  took  them  in  her  arms,  repeating  that  nowhere 
under  the  skies  was  there  a  more  honest,  a  more  noble,  a 
loftier-minded  man  than  their  father.  She  swore  to  them 
that  he  was  innocent,  she  told  them  of  the  awful  martyrdom 
he  endured,  she  prophesied  to  them  that  he  would  some 
day  be  freed,  rehabilitated,  and  acclaimed;  and  she  asked 
them  to  love  and  revere  him  when  that  day  should  dawn, 
to  encompass  him  with  a  worship  whose  sweetness  might 
enable  him  to  forget  his  many  years  of  torture. 

And  yet  would  the  unhappy  man  live  until  that  day  of 
truth  and  justice?  It  was  a  miracle  that  he  had  not  suc- 
cumbed already,  among  the  brutes  who  crucified  him.  To 
survive,  he  had  needed  an  extraordinary  amount  of  moral 
energy,  the  frigid  power  of  resistance,  the  well-balanced 
logical  temperament  with  which  nature  had  fortunately  en- 
dowed him.  Still,  his  last  letters  gave  cause  for  increasing 
anxiety,  he  was  evidently  at  the  end  of  his  strength,  quite 
overcome.  And  Rachel's  fears  reached  such  a  point  that, 
without  pausing  to  consult  anybody,  she,  usually  so  lan- 
guid, repaired  one  morning  to  La  D£sirade  to  see  Baron 
Nathan,  who  was  then  staying  there  with  the  Sangleboeufs. 
She  took  with  her  the  last  letter  she  had  received  from  her 
husband  in  order  to  show  it  to  the  Baron,  meaning  to  beg 
him — triumphant  Jew  that  he  was,  one  of  the  gold-kings  of 
the  world — to  exert  his  great  influence  in  order  to  obtain  a 
little  pity  for  the  poor,  wretched,  crucified  Jew  who  was 
suffering  yonder.  And  she  came  home  in  tears,  shudder- 
ing, as  if  she  had  just  left  some  dazzling  and  fearsome  place. 
She  could  hardly  remember  what  had  happened.  The 
Baron,  the  bloated  renegade,  had  received  her  with  a  stern 
countenance,  as  if  angered  by  her  audacity.  Perhaps  it 
was  his  daughter,  a  white-faced,  frigid  lady,  whom  she  had 
found  with  him.  She  could  not  tell  exactly  how  they  had 
got  rid  of  her,  but  it  was  with  words  of  refusal,  such  as 
might  have  been  addressed  to  a  beggar.  Then  she  had 
found  herself  outside  again,  half-blinded  by  the  wealth  ac- 
cumulated at  that  splendid  abode  of  La  Degrade,  with  its 
sumptuous  reception-rooms,  its  running  waters,  and  its 
white  statues.  And  since  that  fruitless  attempt  she  had 


268  TRUTH 

relapsed  into  the  mournful,  waiting  attitude  of  former  days, 
ever  garbed  in  black,  like  a  living  statue  of  mutely  protest- 
ing grief  in  the  midst  of  persecution. 

The  only  person  on  whom  Marc  relied  in  that  home  of 
wretchedness  and  suffering  was  David,  whose  mind  was  so 
clear,  whose  heart  was  so  upright  and  so  firm.  Ever  since 
the  condemnation  of  Simon  Marc  had  seen  him  striving, 
evincing  neither  impatience,  nor  weakness,  nor  despair,  de- 
spite all  the  difficulties  of  his  task.  Indeed,  David's  faith 
remained  entire;  he  was  convinced  of  his  brother's  inno- 
cence, and  felt  certain  that  he  would  some  day  prove  it. 
He  had  understood  at  the  outset  that  he  would  need  some 
money  to  achieve  his  task,  and  he  had  arranged  his  life  ac- 
cordingly. He  outwardly  resumed  the  direction  of  the  sand 
and  gravel  pits,  which  he  had  leased  from  Baron  Nathan, 
in  such  wise  that  everybody  believed  that  he  conducted  the 
business  personally;  but  in  reality  the  chief  responsibility 
fell  upon  his  foreman,  who  was  devoted  to  him.  And  the 
profits,  being  handled  prudently,  sufficed  for  David's  other 
work,  his  real  mission,  the  investigations  which  he  carried 
on  so  discreetly.  Some  people,  who  believed  him  to  be  a 
miser,  accused  him  of  earning  large  sums  of  money,  and  yet 
giving  no  help  to  his  sister-in-law,  who  shared  the  wretched 
home  of  the  Lehmanns,  where  incessant  toil  led  only  to  a 
life  of  privations.  At  one  moment  also  an  attempt  was 
made  to  dispossess  David  of  his  sand  and  gravel  pits,  the 
Sanglebosufs  threatening  him  with  an  action-at-law,  which 
was  evidently  prompted  by  Father  Crabot.  The  Jesuit,  in- 
deed, was  conscious  of  the  stealthy,  underhand  efforts 
which  that  silent  but  active  man  was  making,  and  would 
have  liked  to  drive  him  from  the  district,  or  at  least  to 
cripple  his  resources.  But  David  fortunately  held  a  thirty 
years'  lease  from  Baron  Nathan,  and  thus  he  was  still  able 
to  carry  on  the  business  which  ensured  him  the  money  he 
needed. 

His  principal  efforts  had  been  long  concentrated  on  the 
illegal  communication  which  President  Gragnon  was  said  to 
have  made  to  the  jurors  in  their  retiring  room,  when  the 
proceedings  in  Simon's  trial  were  over.  After  interminable 
inquiries  David  had  collected  enough  information  to  picture 
the  scene  in  its  broad  lines:  the  jurors,  assailed  by  certain 
scruples,  had  sent  for  the  presiding  judge  in  order  to  ques- 
tion him  about  the  penalties  their  verdict  might  entail;  and 
the  judge,  in  order  to  silence  their  scruples,  had  shown  them 


TRUTH  269 

an  old  letter  of  Simon's,  which  had  been  placed  in  his  hands 
a  moment  previously.  This  letter,  an  insignificant  note  to 
a  friend,  acquired  importance  from  the  fact  that  it  was  fol- 
lowed by  a  postscript,  signed  with  a  paraph  identical  with 
the  one  which  figured  on  the  incriminating  copy-slip.  This 
singular  document,  produced  at  the  last  moment  without 
the  knowledge  of  the  prisoner  or  his  counsel,  had  assuredly 
led  to  the  verdict  of  '  Guilty. '  But  how  was  David  to  estab- 
lish all  this?  How  could  he  induce  one  of  the  jurors  to 
testify  to  the  facts,  the  revelation  of  which  would  have 
brought  about  an  immediate  revision  of  the  proceedings, 
particularly  if — as  David  felt  convinced — the  postscriptum 
of  the  letter  and  its  initialling  were  forgeries?  He  had  long 
endeavoured  to  act,  through  others,  on  the  foreman  of  the 
jury,  Architect  Jacquin,  a  devout  and  very  upright  Catholic; 
and  he  believed  that  he  had  lately  disturbed  that  man's 
conscience  by  acquainting  him  with  the  illegality  of  the 
judge's  communication  under  the  circumstances.  If,  in 
addition,  he  could  prove  that  the  postscriptum  and  the 
paraph  had  been  forged,  Jacquin  would  speak  out. 

When  Marc  repaired  to  the  Rue  du  Trou  to  keep  the  ap- 
pointment he  had  made  with  David,  he  found  the  little  shop 
shut,  the  house  quite  dark  and  lifeless.  The  family  had 
prudently  taken  refuge  in  the  back  parlour,  where  Lehmann 
and  his  wife  were  working  by  lamplight;  and  it  was  there 
that  the  stirring  scene  took  place  in  the  presence  of  the 
quivering  Rachel  and  her  children,  whose  eyes  were  all 
ablaze. 

Before  speaking  out,  however,  Marc  wished  to  ascertain 
what  point  David  had  now  reached  in  his  investigations. 

'  Oh!  things  are  moving,  but  still  very,  very  slowly,'  the 
other  answered.  '  Jacquin  is  one  of  those  fair-minded 
Christians  who  worship  a  Deity  of  love  and  equity.  At 
one  moment  I  felt  alarmed,  for  I  discovered  that  Father 
Crabot  was  bringing  the  greatest  pressure  to  bear  on  him 
through  every  possible  intermediary.  But  I  am  now  easy 
on  that  point — Jacquin  will  act  only  as  his  conscience  may 
direct.  .  .  .  The  difficulty  is  to  get  at  the  document 
in  order  that  it  may  be  examined  by  experts.' 

'  But  did  not  Gragnon  destroy  it? '  Marc  inquired. 

4  It  seems  not.  Having  shown  it  to  the  jurors  he  did  not 
dare  to  do  so,  but  simply  placed  it  with  the  papers  in  the 
case,  among  which  it  must  still  be.  At  least,  such  is  the 
conviction  of  Delbos,  based  on  certain  information  he  has 


2/0  TRUTH 

obtained.  Thus  the  question  is  to  exhume  it  from  among 
the  records,  and  it  is  not  easy  to  devise  a  plausible  motive 
for  doing  so.  ...  Nevertheless,  we  are  making  pro- 
gress." And  after  a  pause  David  added:  'And  you,  my 
friend,  have  you  any  good  news?  ' 

'  Yes,  good  and  great  news. ' 

Then  Marc  slowly  recounted  all  that  had  happened: 
Se"bastien's  illness,  Madame  Alexandre's  despair,  followed 
by  her  remorse  and  terror,  which  had  prompted  her  to  hand 
him  the  long-sought  duplicate  of  the  copy-slip,  on  which 
duplicate  one  found  both  the  stamp  of  the  Brothers'  school 
and  a  paraph  which  undoubtedly  represented  Brother 
Gorgias's  initials.  'Here  it  is,'  said  Marc.  'There,  you 
see,  is  the  stamp,  in  the  very  corner  which  was  torn  away 
from  the  copy  found  near  little  Ze"phirin's  body.  We 
fancied  that  it  might  have  been  bitten  off  by  the  victim,  but 
Father  Philibin  at  least  had  time  to  tear  it  off;  on  that  point 
the  recollections  of  Mignot,  my  assistant,  are  precise. 
Now,  look  at  the  paraph.  It  is  identical  with  the 
other  which  figured  at  the  trial,  but  it  is  more  legible,  and 
one  can  fully  distinguish  Brother  Gorgias's  initials,1  that  is 
an  F  and  a  G  interlaced,  which  the  experts,  Masters  Ba- 
doche  and  Trabut,  with  extraordinary  aberration,  persisted 
in  declaring  to  be  an  L  and  an  S,  otherwise  your  brother's 
initials.  .  .  .  My  conviction  is  now  absolute :  the  culprit 
is  Brother  Gorgias,  and  none  other.' 

With  passionate  eagerness  they  all  stared  at  the  narrow 
yellow  strip  of  paper  produced  by  Marc,  and  scrutinised  it 
in  the  pale  lamplight.  The  old  Lehmanns  quitted  their 
sewing  and  thrust  their  faces  forward  as  if  reviving  to  life. 
Rachel  had  emerged  from  her  torpor,  and  stood  there 
quivering,  while  the  two  children,  Joseph  and  Sarah,  their 
eyes  aflame,  pushed  one  another  in  order  that  they  might 
see  the  better.  Finally  David,  amid  the  deep  silence  of 
that  mourning  home,  took  the  paper  from  Marc  and 
examined  it. 

'  Yes,  yes,'  he  said,  '  my  conviction  is  the  same  as  yours. 
What  was  suspected  has  now  become  certain.  Brother 
Gorgias  is  the  guilty  man!  ' 

A  long  discussion  followed ;  all  the  facts  were  recalled  in 
succession,  and  united  in  one  sheaf.  They  threw  light  on 
each  other,  and  all  tended  to  the  same  conclusion.  Apart 

1  Brother  Gorgias  =  Fr£re  Gorgias. 


TRUTH  271 

from  the  material  proofs  which  were  beginning  to  come  in, 
there  was  a  moral  certainty,  the  demonstration  as  it  were  of 
a  mathematical  problem,  which  reasoning  sufficed  to  solve. 
No  doubt  obscurity  still  hung  around  a  few  points,  such 
as  the  presence  of  the  copy-slip  in  the  Brother's  pocket, 
and  the  fate  of  the  corner  on  which  the  stamp  had  been  im- 
pressed. But  all  the  rest  seemed  certain:  Gorgias  return- 
ing home  on  the  night  of  the  crime,  chance  bringing  him 
before  Zephirin's  open  and  lighted  window,  temptation,  and 
afterwards  murder;  then,  on  the  morrow,  chance  likewise 
bringing  Father  Philibin  and  Brother  Fulgence  on  the  scene 
in  such  wise  that  they  became  mixed  up  in  the  tragedy  and 
were  forced  to  act  in  order  to  save  one  of  their  fellows. 
And  how  plainly  did  the  mutilation  of  the  copy-slip  desig- 
nate the  culprit,  whose  name  was  virtually  proclaimed  also 
by  the  fierce  campaign  which  had  ensued,  the  great  efforts 
which  the  Church  had  made  in  order  to  shield  him,  and 
cause  an  innocent  man  to  be  sentenced  in  his  stead.  More- 
over, each  day  now  brought  fresh  light,  and  before  long  the 
whole  huge  edifice  of  falsehood  would  crumble. 

'  So  that  is  the  end  of  our  wretchedness!  '  exclaimed  old 
Lehmann,  becoming  quite  gay.  '  It  will  only  be  necessary 
to  show  that  paper  and  Simon  will  be  restored  to  us.' 

The  two  children  were  already  dancing  with  delight,  re- 
peating in  blissful  accents:  'Oh!  papa  will  come  back! 
papa  will  come  back!  ' 

But  David  and  Marc  remained  grave.  They  knew  how 
difficult  and  dangerous  the  situation  still  was.  Questions 
of  the  greatest  weight  and  gravity  had  to  be  settled:  how 
were  they  to  make  use  of  that  newly-discovered  document, 
what  course  was  to  be  followed  in  applying  for  a  revision  of 
the  trial?  Thus  Marc  answered  softly:  '  One  must  think  it 
over,  one  must  wait  a  little  longer.' 

At  this  Rachel,  relapsing  into  tears,  stammered  amid  her 
sobs:  'Wait!  wait  for  what?  For  the  poor  man  to  die 
yonder,  amid  the  torture  of  which  he  complains? ' 

Once  more  the  dark  little  house  sank  into  mourning.  All 
felt  that  their  unhappiness  was  not  yet  over.  After  their 
keen  momentary  delight  came  frightful  anxiety  as  to  what 
the  morrow  might  bring  forth. 

'  Delbos  alone  can  guide  us,'  said  David  by  way  of  con- 
clusion. '  If  you  are  willing,  Marc,  we  will  go  to  see  him 
on  Thursday.' 

'  Quite  so:  call  for  me  on  Thursday.' 


272  TRUTH 

In  ten  years  Advocate  Delbos  had  risen  to  a  remarkable 
position  at  Maillebois.  The  Simon  affair,  that  compromis- 
ing case,  the  brief  in  which  had  been  prudently  declined  by 
all  his  colleagues  and  bravely  accepted  by  himself,  had  de- 
cided his  future.  At  that  time  he  had  been  merely  a  peas- 
ant's son,  imbued  with  some  democratic  instincts  and  gifted 
with  eloquence.  But,  while  studying  the  affair  and  gradu- 
ally becoming  the  impassioned  defender  of  the  truth,  he  had 
found  himself  in  presence  of  all  the  bourgeois  forces  coalesc- 
ing in  favour  of  falsehood  and  the  maintenance  of  every 
social  iniquity.  And  this  had  ended  by  making  him  a  mili- 
tant Socialist,  one  who  felt  convinced  that  the  salvation  of 
the  country  could  come  solely  from  the  masses.  By  degrees 
the  whole  revolutionary  party  of  the  town  had  grouped  itself 
around  him,  and  at  the  last  elections  he  had  forced  a  second 
ballot  on  the  radical  Lemarrois,  who  had  been  deputy  for 
twenty  years.  And  if  Delbos  still  suffered  in  his  immediate 
interests  from  the  circumstance  that  he  had  defended  a  Jew 
charged  with  every  crime,  he  was  gradually  rising  to  a  lofty 
position  by  the  firmness  of  his  faith  and  the  quiet  valour  of 
his  actions,  going  forward  to  victory  with  gay  and  virile 
confidence. 

As  soon  as  Marc  had  shown  him  the  copy-slip  obtained 
from  Madame  Alexandre,  the  advocate  raised  a  loud  cry  of 
delight :  '  At  last  we  hold  them ! '  And  turning  towards 
David  he  added :  '  This  gives  us  a  second  new  fact.  The 
first  is  the  letter — a  forgery,  no  doubt — which  was  illegally 
communicated  to  the  jury.  .  .  .  We  must  try  to  find  it 
among  the  papers  of  the  case.  .  .  .  And  the  second  is 
this  copy-slip,  bearing  the  stamp  of  the  Brothers'  school, 
and  a  paraph  which  is  evidently  that  of  Brother  Gorgias. 
It  will,  I  think,  be  easier  and  more  effective  to  use  this 
second  proof.' 

'  Then  what  do  you  advise  me  to  do? '  asked  David.  '  My 
idea  is  to  write  a  letter  to  the  Minister  of  Justice  on  behalf 
of  my  sister-in-law,  a  letter  formally  denouncing  Brother 
Gorgias  as  the  perpetrator  of  the  crime,  and  applying  for 
the  revision  of  my  brother's  case.' 

Delbos  had  become  thoughtful  again.  '  That  would  un- 
doubtedly be  the  correct  course, '  said  he,  '  but  it  is  a  deli- 
cate matter,  and  we  must  not  act  too  hastily.  .  .  .  Let 
us  return  for  a  moment  to  the  illegal  communication  of  that 
letter,  which  it  will  be  so  difficult  for  us  to  prove  as  long 
as  we  cannot  induce  Architect  Jacquin  to  relieve  his  con- 


TRUTH  273 

science.  You  remember  Father  Philibin's  evidence — his 
vague  allusion  to  a  paper  signed  by  your  brother  with  a 
flourish,  similar  to  that  on  the  incriminating  copy-slip — a 
paper  about  which  he  would  give  no  precise  information — 
being  bound,  said  he,  by  confessional  secrecy?  Well,  I  am 
convinced  that  he  was  then  alluding  to  the  very  letter  which 
was  placed  in  Judge  Gragnon's  hands  at  the  last  moment, 
for  which  reason,  like  you,  I  suspect  it  to  be  forged.  But 
these  are  only  suppositions,  theories;  and  we  need  proofs. 
Now,  if  we  drop  that  matter,  and,  for  the  time  at  all  events, 
content  ourselves  with  this  duplicate  copy  of  the  writing 
slip,  on  which  the  school  stamp  appears,  and  on  which  the 
initialling  is  much  plainer,  we  still  find  ourselves  face  to 
face  with  some  puzzling,  obscure  points.  Without  lingering 
too  much  over  the  question  how  it  happened  that  such  a 
slip  was  in  the  Brother's  pocket  at  the  moment  of  the  crime 
— a  point  which  it  is  rather  difficult  to  explain — I  am  very 
worried  by  the  disappearance  of  the  corner  on  which  the 
school  stamp  must  have  been  impressed;  and  I  should  like 
to  find  that  corner  before  acting,  for  I  can  foresee  all  sorts  of 
objections  which  will  be  raised  in  opposition  to  us,  in  order 
to  throw  the  affair  into  a  muddle. ' 

Marc  looked  at  him  in  astonishment.  'What!  find  that 
corner?  It  would  be  a  wonderful  chance  if  we  should  do 
so!  We  even  admitted  that  it  might  have  been  torn  away 
by  the  victim's  teeth.' 

'  Oh!  that  is  not  credible,'  Delbos  answered.  '  Besides, 
in  that  case  the  fragment  would  have  been  found  on  the 
floor.  Nothing  was  found,  so  the  corner  was  intentionally 
torn  off.  Besides,  we  here  detect  the  intervention  of  Father 
Philibin,  for,  as  you  have  told  me,  your  assistant  Mignot 
remembers  that  at  his  first  glance  the  copy-slip  appeared  to 
him  to  be  intact,  and  that  he  felt  surprised  when,  after  losing 
sight  of  it  for  a  moment,  he  saw  it  still  in  Father  Philibin's 
hands  and  mutilated.  So  there  is  no  doubt  on  the  point; 
the  corner  was  torn  away  by  Father  Philibin.  Throughout 
the  campaign  it  was  he,  always  he  who  turned  up  at  decisive 
moments  to  save  the  culprit!  And  this  is  why  I  should  like 
to  have  complete  proof — that  is  to  say,  the  little  fragment 
of  paper  which  he  carried  away  with  him.' 

At  this  David  in  his  turn  expressed  his  surprise:  'You 
think  that  he  kept  it? ' 

'  Certainly  I  think  so.  At  all  events  he  may  have  kept  it. 
Philibin  is  a  taciturn  man,  extremely  dexterous,  however 

18 


274  TRUTH 

coarse  and  heavy  he  may  look.  He  must  have  preserved 
that  fragment  as  a  weapon  for  his  own  defence,  as  a  means 
of  keeping  a  hold  over  his  accomplices.  I  nowadays  sus- 
pect that,  influenced  by  some  motive  which  remains  obscure, 
he  was  the  great  artisan  of  the  iniquity.  Perhaps  he  was 
merely  guided  by  a  spirit  of  fidelity  towards  his  chief,  Father 
Crabot;  perhaps  there  has  been  some  skeleton  between 
them  since  that  suspicious  affair  of  the  donation  of  Valmarie ; 
perhaps  too  Philibin  was  actuated  simply  by  militant  faith 
and  a  desire  to  promote  the  triumph  of  the  Church.  At  all 
events  he  's  a  terrible  fellow,  a  man  of  determination  and 
action,  by  the  side  of  whom  that  noisy,  empty  Brother 
Fulgence  is  merely  a  vain  fool. ' 

Marc  had  begun  to  ponder.  '  Father  Philibin,  Father 
Philibin.  .  .  .  Yes,  I  was  altogether  mistaken  about 
him.  Even  after  the  trial  I  still  thought  him  a  worthy  man, 
a  man  of  upright  nature,  even  if  warped  by  his  surround- 
ings. .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  he  was  the  great  culprit,  the  artisan 
of  forgery  and  falsehood.' 

But  David  again  turned  to  Delbos:  '  Suppose,'  said  he, 
'  that  Philibin  should  have  kept  the  corner  which  he  tore 
from  the  slip,  you  surely  don't  expect  that  he  will  give  it  to 
you,  if  you  ask  him  for  it — do  you? ' 

'  Oh !  no, '  the  advocate  answered  with  a  laugh.  '  But 
before  attempting  anything  decisive  I  should  like  to  reflect, 
and  ascertain  if  there  is  no  means  of  securing  the  irrefutable 
proof.  Moreover,  a  demand  for  the  revision  of  a  case  is  a 
very  serious  matter,  and  nothing  ought  to  be  left  to  chance. 
Let  me  complete  our  case  if  I  can ;  give  me  a  few 
days — two  or  three  weeks  if  necessary — and  then  we  will 
act.' 

On  the  morrow  Marc  understood  by  his  wife's  manner 
that  her  grandmother  had  spoken  out  and  that  the  Congre- 
gations, from  Father  Crabot  to  the  humblest  of  the  Igno- 
rantines,  were  duly  warned.  The  affair  suddenly  burst  into 
life  again,  there  came  increasing  agitation  and  alarm.  In- 
formed as  they  were  of  the  discovery  of  the  duplicate  copy- 
slip,  conscious  that  the  innocent  man's  family  were  now  on 
the  road  to  the  truth,  hourly  expecting  to  see  Brother 
Gorgias  denounced,  the  guilty  ones,  Brother  Fulgence, 
Father  Philibin,  and  Father  Crabot,  returned  to  the  fray, 
striving  to  hide  their  former  crime  by  committing  fresh 
ones.  They  divined  that  the  masterpiece  of  iniquity  which 
they  had  reared  so  laboriously,  and  defended  so  fiercely, 


TRUTH  275 

was  now  in  great  peril,  and,  yielding  to  that  fatality  whereby 
one  lie  inevitably  leads  to  endless  others,  they  were  ready 
for  the  worst  deeds  in  order  to  save  their  work  from  de- 
struction. Besides,  it  was  no  mere  question  of  protecting 
themselves,  the  salvation  of  the  Church  would  depend  on 
the  battle.  If  the  infamous  structure  of  falsehood  should 
collapse,  would  not  the  Congregations  be  buried  beneaw  it? 
The  Brothers'  school  would  be  ruined,  closed,  while  the 
secular  school  triumphed;  the  Capuchins'  business  would 
be  seriously  damaged,  customers  would  desert  them,  their 
shrine  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua  would  be  reduced  to  paltry 
profits;  the  college  of  Valmarie  likewise  would  be  threat- 
ened, the  Jesuits  would  be  forced  to  quit  the  region  which 
they  now  educated  under  various  disguises;  and  all  religious 
influence  would  decline,  the  breach  in  the  flanks  of  the 
Church  would  be  enlarged,  and  free  thought  would  clear 
the  highway  to  the  future.  How  desperate  therefore  was 
the  resistance,  how  fiercely  did  the  whole  clerical  army 
arise  in  order  that  it  might  not  be  compelled  to  cede  aught 
of  the  wretched  region  of  error  and  dolour,  which,  for  ages, 
it  had  steeped  in  night! 

Before  Brother  Gorgias  was  even  denounced,  his  superiors 
felt  it  necessary  to  defend  him,  to  cover  him  at  all  costs,  to 
forestall  the  threatened  attack,  by  concocting  a  story  which 
might  prove  his  innocence.  At  the  first  moment,  however, 
there  was  terrible  confusion ;  the  Brother  was  seen  hurrying 
wildly,  on  his  long  thin  legs,  along  the  streets  of  Maillebois 
and  the  roads  of  the  neighbourhood.  With  his  eagle  beak 
set  between  his  projecting  cheek-bones,  his  deep  black  eyes, 
with  their  thick  brows,  and  his  grimacing  mouth,  he  resem- 
bled a  fierce,  scoffing  bird  of  prey.  In  the  course  of  one 
day  he  was  seen  on  the  road  to  Valmarie,  then  quitting  the 
residence  of  Philis,  the  Mayor  of  Maillebois,  then  alighting 
from  a  train  which  had  brought  him  from  Beaumont. 
Moreover,  both  in  the  town  and  the  surrounding  country 
many  cassocks  and  frocks  were  encountered  hurrying  hither 
and  thither,  thus  testifying  to  a  perfect  panic.  It  was  only 
on  the  morrow  that  the  meaning  of  the  agitation  was  made 
evident  by  an  article  in  Le  Petit  Beaumontais,  announcing 
in  violent  language  that  the  whole  Simon  affair  was  to  be 
revived  by  the  friends  of  the  ignoble  Jew,  who  were  about 
to  agitate  the  region  by  denouncing  a  worthy  member  of  one 
of  the  religious  Orders,  the  holiest  of  men. 

Brother  Gorgias  was  not  yet  named,  but  from  that  mo- 


2/6  TRUTH 

ment  a  fresh  article  appeared  every  day,  and  by  degrees  the 
version  of  the  affair  which  the  Brother's  superiors  had  con- 
cocted was  set  out  in  opposition  to  the  version  which,  it  was 
foreseen,  would  be  given  by  David,  though  the  latter  had 
revealed  it  to  nobody.  However,  the  desire  of  the  clericals 
was  to  wreck  it  beforehand.  Everything  was  flatly  denied. 
It  was  impossible  that  Brother  Gorgias  could  have  paused 
before  Z^phirin's  window  on  the  night  of  the  crime,  for  wit- 
nesses had  proved  that  he  had  already  returned  to  the 
school  at  half-past  ten  o'clock.  Besides,  the  initialling  on 
the  copy-slip  was  not  his,  for  the  experts  had  fully  recog- 
nised Simon's  handwriting.  And  everything  could  be 
easily  explained.  Simon,  having  procured  a  writing  slip, 
had  imitated  the  Brother's  paraph,  which  he  had  found  in 
one  of  Ze'phirin's  copybooks.  Then,  as  he  knew  that  the 
slips  were  stamped  at  the  Brothers'  school,  he  had  torn  off 
one  corner  with  diabolical  cunning,  in  order  to  create  a 
belief  in  some  precaution  taken  by  the  murderer;  his  in- 
fernal object  being  to  cast  the  responsibility  of  his  own 
crime  on  some  servant  of  God,  and  thereby  gratify  the 
hatred  of  the  Church  which  possessed  him — Jew  that  he 
was,  fated  to  everlasting  damnation.  And  this  extravagant 
story,  repeated  every  day,  soon  became  the  credo  of  the 
readers  whom  the  newspaper  debased  and  poisoned  with  its 
falsehoods. 

It  should  be  mentioned,  however,  that  at  the  first  moment 
there  was  a  little  uncertainty  and  hesitation,  for  other  ex- 
planations had  been  circulated,  and  Brother  Gorgias  himself 
appeared  to  have  made  some  curious  statements.  Formerly 
hidden  away  in  the  background,  now  suddenly  thrust  into 
full  light,  this  Brother  Gorgias  was  an  extraordinary  char- 
acter. The  Countess  de  Quedeville,  the  former  owner  of 
Valmarie,  had  endeavoured  to  transform  his  father,  Jean 
Plumet,  a  poacher,  into  a  kind  of  gamekeeper.  He,  the 
son,  had  never  known  his  mother,  a  hussy  who  rambled 
about  the  woods,  for  she  had  disappeared  soon  after  his 
birth.  Then  his  father  had  been  shot  one  night  by  an  old 
fellow  poacher,  and  the  boy,  at  that  time  twelve  years  old, 
had  remained  at  Valmarie,  protected  by  the  Countess,  and 
becoming  the  playfellow  of  her  grandson  Gaston,  with  the 
exact  circumstances  of  whose  death,  while  walking  out  with 
Father  Philibin,  he  was  doubtless  well  acquainted,  as  well 
as  with  all  that  had  ensued  when  the  last  of  the  Que"devilles 
died  and  bequeathed  the  estate  to  Father  Crabot.  The  two 


TRUTH  277 

Jesuits  had  never  ceased  to  take  an  interest  in  him,  and  it 
was  thanks  to  them  that  he  had  become  an  Ignorantine,  in 
spite,  it  was  said,  of  serious  circumstances  which  tended  to 
prevent  it.  For  these  reasons  certain  evil-minded  folk  sus- 
pected the  existence  of  some  corpse  between  the  two  Jesuit 
fathers  and  their  compromising  inferior. 

At  the  same  time  Brother  Gorgias  was  cited  as  an  ad- 
mirable member  of  his  cloth,  one  truly  imbued  with  the 
Holy  Spirit.  He  possessed  faith,  that  sombre,  savage  faith 
which  pictures  man  as  a  weakling,  a  prey  to  perpetual  sin, 
ruled  by  an  absolute  master,  a  Deity  of  wrath  and  punish- 
ment. That  Deity  alone  reigned ;  it  was  for  the  Church  to 
visit  His  wrath  upon  the  masses,  whose  duty  it  became  to 
bow  their  heads  in  servile  submission  until  the  day  of  resur- 
rection dawned  amid  the  delights  of  the  heavenly  kingdom. 
He,  Brother  Gorgias,  often  sinned  himself,  but  he  invariably 
confessed  his  transgression  with  a  vehement  show  of  re- 
pentance, striking  his  breast  with  both  fists,  and  humbling 
himself  in  the  mud.  Then  he  rose  again,  absolved,  at  rest, 
displaying  the  provoking  serenity  of  a  pure  conscience. 
He  had  paid  his  debt,  and  he  would  owe  nothing  more 
until  the  weakness  of  his  flesh  should  cast  him  into  sin 
again.  As  a  lad  he  had  roamed  the  woods,  growing  up 
amid  poaching  and  thieving,  and  hiding  himself  away  with 
the  little  hussies  of  the  district.  Later,  after  joining  the  Ig- 
norantines,  he  had  displayed  the  keenest  appetites,  showing 
himself  a  big  eater,  a  hard  drinker,  with  inclinations  towards 
lubricity  and  violence.  But,  as  he  said  in  that  strangely- 
compounded,  humble,  scoffing,  threatening  way  of  his  to 
Fathers  Philibin  and  Crabot,  whenever  they  reproached 
him  for  some  too  serious  prank:  did  not  everybody  sin?  did 
not  everybody  need  forgiveness?  Half  amusing,  half  alarm- 
ing them,  he  won  their  pardon,  so  sincere  and  stupendous 
did  his  remorse  appear — remorse  which  sometimes  impelled 
him  to  fast  for  a  week  at  a  stretch,  and  to  wear  hair-cloths, 
studded  with  small  sharp  nails,  next  to  his  skin.  It  was 
indeed  on  this  account  that  he  had  been  always  well  noted 
by  his  superiors,  who  recognised  that  he  possessed  the  gen- 
uine religious  spirit  —  the  spirit  which,  when  his  monkish 
vices  ran  riot,  atoned  for  them  with  the  avenging  flagellation 
of  penitence. 

Now,  on  the  revival  of  the  Simon  case,  Brother  Gorgias 
made  the  mistake  of  saying  too  much  in  the  course  of  his 
first  confidential  chats  with  the  writers  of  Le  Petit  Beau- 


278  TRUTH 

montais.  No  doubt  his  superiors  had  not  yet  expressly  im- 
posed their  own  version  on  him,  and  he  was  too  intelligent 
to  be  blind  to  its  exceeding  absurdity.  As  another  copy  of 
the  writing  slip,  one  bearing  his  paraph,  had  been  discovered, 
it  must  have  seemed  to  him  ridiculous  to  deny  that  this 
paraph  was  his  writing.  All  the  experts  in  the  world  would 
never  prevent  full  light  from  being  thrown  on  that  point. 
Thus  he  gave  some  inkling  of  a  version  of  his  own,  one 
which  was  more  reasonable  than  that  of  his  superiors,  and 
in  which  a  part  of  the  truth  appeared.  For  instance,  he 
allowed  it  to  be  supposed  that  he  had  indeed  halted  for  a 
moment  outside  Zephirin's  open  window  on  the  night  of  the 
crime,  that  he  had  engaged  in  a  friendly  chat  with  the  little 
hunchback,  and  that  he  had  scolded  him  on  seeing  on  his 
table  a  copy-slip  which  he  had  taken  from  the  school  with- 
out permission.  Next,  however,  had  come  falsehood.  He, 
Gorgias,  had  gone  off,  the  child  had  closed  his  window,  then 
Simon  must  have  come  and  have  committed  the  horrid  crime, 
Satan  suddenly  inspiring  him  to  make  use  of  the  copy-slip, 
after  which  he  had  opened  the  window  afresh,  in  order  to 
let  it  appear  that  the  murderer  had  fled  that  way. 

But,  although  this  version  of  the  affair  was  at  the  first 
moment  given  by  the  newspaper,  which  declared  that  it 
emanated  from  a  most  reliable  source,  it  was  on  the  morrow 
contradicted  energetically,  even  by  Brother  Gorgias  him- 
self, who  repaired  expressly  to  the  newspaper  office  to  enter 
his  protest.  He  then  swore  on  the  gospel  that  he  had  gone 
straight  home  on  the  evening  of  the  crime,  and  that  the 
initialling  on  the  copy-slip  was  a  forgery  in  Simon's  hand- 
writing, even  as  the  experts  had  demonstrated.  As  a  mat- 
ter of  fact  he  was  compelled  to  accept  the  concoction  of  his 
superiors  in  order  that  he  might  be  backed  up  and  saved  by 
them.  He  grumbled  over  it,  and  shrugged  his  shoulders 
impatiently,  for  it  seemed  to  him  an  extremely  stupid  ver- 
sion ;  but  at  the  same  time  he  bowed  to  the  decision  of  the 
others,  even  though  he  foresaw  that  their  system  of  defence 
must  eventually  crumble  to  pieces. 

At  this  moment  Brother  Gorgias,  with  his  scoffing  impu- 
dence and  his  heroic  mendacity,  was  really  superb.  But, 
then,  was  not  the  Deity  behind  him?  Was  he  not  lying  in 
order  to  save  Holy  Church,  knowing  too  that  absolution 
would  wash  away  his  sin?  He  even  dreamt  of  the  palms  of 
martyrdom;  each  pious  act  of  infamy  that  he  perpetrated 
would  entitle  him  to  another  joy  in  heaven!  From  that 


TRUTH  279 

moment,  then,  he  became  merely  a  docile  instrument  in  the 
hands  of  Brother  Fulgence,  behind  whom  Father  Philibin 
was  secretly  acting  under  the  discreet  orders  of  Father 
Crabot.  Their  tactics  were  to  deny  everything,  even  what 
was  self-evident,  for  fear  lest  the  smallest  breach  in  the 
sacred  wall  of  the  Congregations  should  prove  the  beginning 
of  inevitable  ruin;  and  although  their  absurd  version  of  the 
affair  might  seem  idiotic  to  people  possessed  of  logical  minds, 
it  would  none  the  less  long  remain  the  only  truth  accepted 
by  the  mass  of  the  faithful,  with  whom  they  could  presume 
to  do  anything,  knowing  as  they  did  their  boundless, 
fathomless  credulity. 

The  clericals,  then,  having  assumed  the  offensive  without 
waiting  for  Gorgias  to  be  denounced,  Brother  Fulgence  in 
particular  displayed  the  most  intemperate  zeal.  At  times 
of  great  emotion,  his  father,  the  mad  doctor  who  had  died 
in  an  asylum,  seemed  to  revive  in  him.  With  his  brain  all 
fogged,  unhinged  by  vanity  and  ambition,  he  yielded  to  the 
first  impulse  that  came  to  him,  ever  dreaming  of  doing  some 
mighty  service  to  the  Church,  which  would  raise  him  to  the 
head  of  his  Order.  Thus,  in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  Simon 
affair,  he  had  lost  the  little  common-sense  which  he  had 
previously  shown,  for  he  had  hoped  that  the  case  would 
yield  him  the  glory  he  coveted;  and  now  that  it  was  revived 
he  once  more  became  delirious.  He  was  constantly  to  be 
seen  hurrying  along  the  streets  of  Maillebois,  little,  dark, 
and  lean,  with  the  folds  of  his  gown  flying  about  him  as  if  a 
gale  were  carrying  him  away.  Whenever  he  entered  into 
conversation  he  defended  his  school  with  passionate  eager- 
ness, calling  on  heaven  to  witness  the  angelic  purity  of  his 
assistants.  As  for  the  abominable  rumours  which  had  been 
circulated  long  ago  respecting  some  Brothers  who  had  been 
so  horribly  compromised  that  it  had  been  necessary  to  con- 
jure them  away  with  the  greatest  speed — all  those  infamous 
tales  were  inventions  of  the  devil. 

In  this  respect,  perhaps,  however  contrary  to  the  truth  his 
vehement  declarations  might  be,  Brother  Fulgence,  in  the 
first  instance,  made  them  in  all  good  faith,  for  he  lived  very 
much  in  another  world,  far  from  mere  reason.  But  he  soon 
found  himself  caught  beneath  the  millstone  of  falsehood;  it 
became  necessary  that  he  should  lie  knowingly  and  deliber- 
ately, and  he  did  so  at  last  with  a  kind  of  devout  rage,  for 
the  very  love  of  God.  Was  he  not,  himself,  chaste?  Had 
he  not  always  wrestled  against  temptation?  That  was  so; 


280  TRUTH 

and  he  therefore  made  it  his  duty  to  guarantee  the  absolute 
chastity  of  his  entire  Order;  he  answered  for  the  Brothers 
who  stumbled  by  the  way,  he  denied  to  laymen  the  right  of 
judging  them,  for  the  laymen  belonged  merely  to  the  flock, 
they  knew  nought  of  the  temple.  If,  then,  Brother  Gorgias 
had  sinned,  he  owed  account  of  it  to  God  only,  not  to  man. 
As  a  member  of  a  religious  Order  he  had  ceased  to  be  liable 
to  human  justice.  In  this  way,  consumed  by  his  craving  to 
thrust  himself  forward,  Brother  Fulgence  went  on  and  on, 
impelled  by  skilful  and  discreet  hands  which  piled  all  re- 
sponsibilities upon  his  shoulders. 

It  was  not  difficult  to  divine  that  Father  Philibin  stood 
behind  him  in  the  gloom  —  Father  Philibin,  who,  in  his 
turn,  was  the  instrument  of  Father  Crabot.  But  how 
supple  and  how  powerful  a  one,  retaining  his  personality 
even  amidst  his  obedience!  He  willingly  exaggerated  the 
characteristics  of  his  peasant  origin,  affecting  the  heavy  bon- 
homie of  some  rough-hewed  son  of  the  soil;  yet  he  was  full 
of  the  shrewdest  craft,  endowed  with  the  patience  needed 
for  long  enterprises,  which  he  conducted  with  wonderful 
dexterity.  He  was  always  striving  to  attain  some  mysterious 
object,  but  he  made  no  stir,  he  showed  no  personal  ambi- 
tion ;  the  only  joy  he  coveted  was  that  of  seeing  his  work 
prosper.  Supposing  him  to  be  possessed  of  faith,  it  must 
have  been  a  desire  to  serve  his  superiors  and  the  Church 
that  impelled  him  to  fight  on  like  an  unknown  unscrupulous 
soldier.  As  Prefect  of  the  Studies  at  Valmarie  he  there 
kept  a  watch  over  everything,  busied  himself  with  every- 
thing; for,  however  massive  his  build,  he  was  very  active. 
Mingling  with  the  pupils  of  the  college,  playing  with  them, 
watching  them,  studying  them,  diving  to  the  very  depths  of 
their  souls,  ascertaining  everything  he  could  about  their 
relatives  and  their  friends,  he  possessed  the  master's  all- 
seeing  eye,  the  mind  which  stripped  the  brains  and  hearts 
of  others. 

At  times,  it  was  said,  he  shut  himself  up  with  Father 
Crabot,  the  Rector,  who  affected  to  direct  the  establishment 
from  on  high,  never  attending  personally  to  the  education 
of  the  boys;  and  to  him  Father  Philibin  communicated  his 
notes,  his  reports,  his  many  documents  containing  the  most 
complete  and  secret  particulars  about  each  pupil.  It  was 
asserted  that  Father  Crabot,  who  prudently  made  it  a  prin- 
ciple to  keep  no  papers  whatever,  did  not  approve  of  Phili- 
bin's  practice  of  collecting  and  cataloguing  documents. 


TRUTH  28l 

Yet,  in  recognition  of  his  great  services,  he  let  him  do  so, 
regarding  himself  meantime  as  the  directing  hand,  the  su- 
perior mind  which  made  use  of  the  other.  Indeed,  did  he 
not  reign  from  his  austere  little  cell  over  all  the  fine  folk  of 
the  department?  Did  not  the  ladies  whom  he  confessed, 
the  families  whose  children  were  educated  at  Valmarie,  be- 
long to  him  by  virtue  of  the  might  of  his  sacred  ministry? 
He  flattered  himself  that  it  was  he  who  wove  and  disposed 
the  huge  net  in  which  he  hoped  to  capture  one  and  all, 
when  in  reality  it  was  more  frequently  Father  Philibin  who 
covertly  prepared  the  various  campaigns  and  ensured  vic- 
tory. In  the  Simon  case,  in  particular,  the  latter  seemed 
to  have  been  the  hidden  artisan  who  recoiled  from  no  task, 
however  dark  and  base  it  might  be,  the  politic  man  whom 
nothing  could  disgust,  who  had  remained  the  friend  of  that 
vicious  but  well-informed  youth,  Georges  Plumet, — nowa- 
days the  terrible  Brother  Gorgias, — following  him  through 
life,  protecting  him  because  he  was  as  dangerous  as  useful, 
and  doing  all  that  could  be  done  to  extricate  him  from  that 
frightful  affair,  the  murder  of  little  Zephirin,  in  order  no 
doubt  that  he,  Philibin  himself,  might  not  come  to  grief  in 
it,  in  the  company  of  his  superior,  Father  Crabot,  that  glory 
of  the  Church. 

Now,  once  again,  Maillebois  became  impassioned,  though 
as  yet  there  were  only  rumours  of  the  criminal  devices  which 
the  Jews  were  preparing  in  order  to  set  the  devoted  Brother 
Gorgias,  that  holy  man,  revered  by  the  entire  district,  in  the 
place  of  that  infamous  scoundrel  Simon.  Extraordinary 
efforts  were  made  to  induce  the  school  children's  parents — 
even  those  whose  children  attended  the  secular  school — to 
condemn  the  revival  of  the  affair.  People  talked  as  if  the 
streets  had  been  mined  by  some  hidden  band  of  scoundrels, 
the  enemies  of  God  and  France,  who  had  resolved  to  blow 
up  the  town  as  soon  as  a  certain  signal  should  reach  them 
from  abroad.  At  a  sitting  of  the  Municipal  Council,  Mayor 
Philis  ventured  to  allude  to  a  vague  danger  threatening  the 
locality,  and  denounced  the  Jews  who  were  secretly  piling 
up  millions  for  the  diabolical  work.  Then,  becoming  more 
precise,  he  condemned  the  impious  doings  of  the  school- 
master, that  Marc  Froment,  of  whom  he  had  hitherto  failed 
to  rid  the  town.  But  he  was  still  watching  him,  and  this 
time  he  hoped  that  he  would  compel  the  Academy  Inspector 
to  show  exemplary  severity. 

The  successive  versions  which  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  had 


282  TRUTH 

given  of  Marc's  share  in  the  revival  of  the  affair  had  cast 
confusion  into  the  minds  of  many  folk.  There  was  cer- 
tainly a  question  of  a  document  found  at  the  house  of  Mes- 
dames  Milhomme,  the  stationers;  but  some  people  spoke 
also  of  another  abominable  forgery  perpetrated  by  Simon,  and 
others  of  a  crushing  document  which  proved  the  complicity 
of  Father  Crabot.  The  only  certain  thing  was  that  Gen- 
eral Jarousse  had  paid  another  visit  to  his  cousin,  Madame 
Edouard,  that  poor  relation  whose  existence  he  so  willingly 
forgot.  One  morning  he  had  been  seen  arriving  and  rush- 
ing into  the  little  shop,  whence  he  had  emerged  half  an  hour 
later,  looking  extremely  red.  And  the  result  of  his  tem- 
pestuous intervention  was  that  Madame  Alexandre,  and  her 
son  Sebastien,  now  convalescent,  started  on  the  morrow  for 
the  South  of  France,  while  Madame  Edouard  continued  to 
manage  the  shop  to  the  complete  satisfaction  of  the  clerical 
customers.  She  ascribed  the  absence  of  her  sister-in-law  to 
the  latter' s  maternal  anxiety,  for  only  a  sojourn  in  a  warm 
climate  would  restore  Sebastien  to  health ;  but  as  a  matter 
of  fact  she  was  quite  ready  to  recall  Madame  Alexandre  in 
the  interests  of  their  business,  should  the  secular  school 
prove  victorious  in  the  coming  contest. 

Amid  the  rumbling  of  the  great  storm  which  was  rising, 
Marc  endeavoured  to  discharge  his  duties  as  schoolmaster 
with  all  correctitude.  The  affair  was  now  in  David's  hands, 
and  in  that  respect  he,  Marc,  merely  had  to  wait  until  he 
could  assist  him  with  his  evidence.  Thus  never  had  he  de- 
voted himself  more  entirely  to  his  pupils,  striving  to  inspire 
them  with  reason  and  kindliness,  for  his  active  share  in  the 
reparation  of  one  of  the  most  monstrous  iniquities  of  the  age 
had  filled  him  with  greater  fervour  than  ever  for  the  cause 
of  human  solidarity.  With  Genevieve  he  showed  himself 
very  affectionate,  endeavouring  to  avoid  all  subjects  on 
which  they  disagreed,  attentive  only,  it  seemed,  to  those 
little  trifles  which  are  yet  of  great  importance  in  one's  daily 
life.  But  whenever  his  wife  returned  from  a  visit  to  her  re- 
lations he  divined  that  she  was  nervous,  impatient,  more 
and  more  exasperated  with  him,  her  mind  being  full  of 
stories  which  she  had  heard  from  his  enemies.  Thus  he 
could  not  always  avoid  quarrels,  which  gradually  became 
more  and  more  venomous  and  deadly. 

One  evening  hostilities  broke  out  on  the  subject  of  that 
unhappy  man  Ferou.  Tragic  tidings  had  reached  Marc 
during  the  day:  a  sergeant,  to  whom  Fe"rou  had  behaved 


TRUTH  283 

rebelliously,  had  shot  him  dead  with  a  revolver.  Marc,  on 
going  to  see  the  widow,  had  found  her  in  her  wretched 
home,  weeping  and  begging  death  to  take  her  also,  together 
with  her  younger  daughters,  even  as  it  had  compassionately 
taken  the  eldest  one  already.  Marc  felt  that  Ferou's  fright- 
ful fate  was  the  logical  denouement  of  his  career :  the  poor 
schoolmaster,  scorned,  embittered  to  the  point  of  rebellion, 
driven  from  his  post,  deserting  in  order  that  he  might  not 
have  to  pay  to  the  barracks  the  debt  which  he  had  already 
paid  in  part  to  the  school,  then  conquered  by  hunger, 
forcibly  incorporated  in  the  army  when  he  returned  to  suc- 
cour his  despairing  wife  and  children,  and  ending  like  a  mad 
dog,  yonder,  under  the  flaming  sky,  amid  the  torturing  life 
of  a  disciplinary  company.  At  the  same  time,  in  presence  of 
the  sobbing  wife  and  her  stupefied  daughters,  in  presence 
of  those  poor  ragged  waifs  whom  the  iniquity  of  the  social 
system  cast  into  the  last  agony,  Marc's  brotherly  and  hu- 
mane nature  was  stirred  to  furious  protest.  Even  in  the 
evening  he  had  not  calmed  down,  and  forgot  himself  so  far 
as  to  speak  of  the  affair  to  Genevieve,  while  she  was  still 
moving  about  their  bedroom  before  withdrawing  to  a  small 
adjoining  chamber,  where,  of  recent  times,  she  had  slept  by 
herself. 

'  Do  you  know  the  news? '  said  he.  'A  sergeant  has  blown 
poor  Ferou's  brains  out,  in  some  mutiny,  in  Algeria.' 

'Ah!' 

'  Yes,  I  saw  Madame  Ferou  this  afternoon ;  she  is  quite 
out  of  her  mind.  ...  It  was  really  deliberate,  pre- 
meditated murder.  I  don't  know  if  General  Jarousse,  who 
showed  himself  so  harsh  in  Ferou's  case,  will  sleep  at  ease 
to-night.  In  any  case  some  of  the  blood  of  that  poor  mad- 
man, who  was  turned  into  a  wild  beast,  will  cling  to  his 
hands.' 

4  It  would  be  very  foolish  of  the  general  not  to  sleep! ' 
Genevieve  quickly  retorted,  interpreting  Marc's  words  as  an 
attack  on  her  principles. 

He  made  a  gesture  of  mingled  sorrow  and  indignation. 
But,  recollecting  the  position,  he  regretted  that  he  had 
named  the  general,  for  the  latter  was  one  of  Father  Crabot's 
dearest  penitents,  and  at  one  moment  there  had  been  some 
thought  of  using  him  for  a  military  coup  d  'e"tat.  A  Bona- 
partist  by  repute,  with  a  decorative,  corpulent  figure,  he 
was  very  severe  with  his  men,  though  jovial  at  bottom,  and 
fond  of  the  table  and  wenches.  Of  course  there  was  no 


284  TRUTH 

harm  in  that;  but,  after  some  negotiations,  the  clericals 
found  that  he  was  decidedly  too  big  a  fool  for  their  purpose ; 
and  so  he  remained  a  mere  possible  makeshift  for  their 
party,  though  they  still  treated  him  with  some  consideration. 

'When  we  first  knew  the  Fe>ou  family  at  Le  Moreux,' 
Marc  gently  resumed,  '  they  were  already  so  poor,  so  bur- 
dened with  work  and  worries  in  their  wretched  school,  that 
I  cannot  think  of  that  unhappy  man,  that  master,  tracked 
and  destroyed  like  a  wolf,  without  a  feeling  of  anguish  and 
compassion.' 

At  this  Genevieve,  thoroughly  upset,  her  earlier  dis- 
pleasure turning  into  a  kind  of  nervous  exasperation,  burst 
into  tears.  'Yes,  yes!  I  understand  you  perfectly — I  am 
a  heartless  creature,  eh?  You  began  by  thinking  me  a  fool, 
and  now  you  believe  I  have  an  evil  heart.  How  is  it  possi- 
ble for  us  to  continue  loving  one  another  if  you  treat  me  as 
though  I  were  a  stupid  and  malicious  woman? ' 

Astonished  and  grieved  at  having  provoked  such  an  out- 
burst Marc  wished  to  pacify  his  wife.  But  she  became  quite 
wild.  '  No,  no!  it  is  all  over  between  us.  As  you  hate  me 
more  and  more  each  day,  it  is  best  that  we  should  separate 
at  once,  without  waiting  till  unworthy  things  happen !  ' 

Then  she  rushed  into  the  little  room  where  she  now  slept, 
and  locked  the  door  with  no  gentle  hand.  He,  when  he 
saw  it  thus  shut  upon  him,  remained  in  despair,  with  tears 
welling  to  his  eyes.  Hitherto  that  door  had  always  been 
left  open,  and,  though  the  husband  and  wife  had  no  longer 
shared  the  same  bed,  they  had  remained  in  a  degree  to- 
gether, able  to  converse  with  one  another.  But  now  came 
total  separation:  henceforth  they  would  live  as  strangers. 

On  the  following  evenings  Genevieve  in  the  same  manner 
locked  herself  in  her  room.  Then,  having  acquired  that 
habit,  she  never  showed  herself  to  Marc  until  she  was  fully 
dressed.  As  the  time  approached  for  the  birth  of  the  child 
she  expected,  she  displayed  increasing  repugnance  for  the 
slightest  caress,  the  merest  touch,  even,  on  the  part  of  her 
husband.  He  had  ascribed  this  at  first  to  her  state  of 
health ;  but  he  became  surprised  as  her  repulsion  developed 
more  and  more  into  hatred,  for  it  seemed  to  him  that  the 
advent  of  another  child  ought  to  have  drawn  them  more 
closely  together.  And  his  anxiety  augmented;  for  if,  on 
the  one  hand,  he  was  aware  that  as  long  as  man  and  wo- 
man are  united  by  love  no  rupture  is  possible,  for  the  bit- 
terest quarrels  evaporate  amid  their  kisses,  on  the  other  he 


TRUTH  285 

knew  that,  as  soon  as  virtual  divorce  is  agreed  upon,  the 
slightest  conflict  may  prove  deadly,  beyond  possibility  of 
reconciliation;  indeed,  it  often  happens  when  homes  are 
seen  collapsing  in  a  seemingly  inexplicable  manner,  that 
everything  can  be  traced  back  to  the  severance  of  the  carnal 
bond,  the  tie  of  passion.  As  long  as  Genevieve  had  hung 
about  his  neck  Marc  had  not  feared  the  attempts  which 
were  made  to  take  her  from  him.  He  knew  that  she  was 
his,  he  knew  that  no  power  in  the  world  could  conquer  love. 
But  if  she  ceased  to  regard  him  with  love  and  passion,  would 
not  the  fierce  efforts  of  his  enemies  at  last  wrest  her  from 
him?  And,  as  day  by  day  he  saw  her  become  colder  and 
colder,  his  heart  was  wrung  by  increasing,  intolerable 
anxiety. 

At  one  moment  some  little  enlightenment  came  to  him 
with  respect  to  the  change  in  his  wife's  manner.  He  learnt 
that  she  had  quitted  Abbe  Quandieu  to  take  as  her  con- 
fessor Father  The"odose,  the  Superior  of  the  Capuchins,  who 
stage-managed  so  cleverly  the  miracles  of  St.  Antony  of 
Padua.  The  reason  given  for  this  change  was  the  discom- 
fort, the  unappeased  hungry  state  in  which  she  was  left  by 
the  ministrations  of  the  priest  of  St.  Martin's.  He  was  now 
too  lukewarm  for  her  ardent  faith ;  whereas  handsome  Father 
Th£odose,  whose  fervour  was  so  lofty,  would  nourish  her 
with  the  wholemeal  bread  of  mysticism,  which  she  needed 
to  satisfy  her.  In  reality,  it  was  Father  Crabot,  now  sover- 
eign lord  at  Madame  Duparque's  house,  who  had  decided 
on  this  change,  doubtless  in  order  to  hasten  victory  after 
proceeding  with  such  artful  slowness. 

It  never  occurred  to  Marc  to  suspect  Genevieve  of  any 
base  intrigue  with  the  Capuchin,  that  superbly-built  man, 
Christlike  in  features  but  of  dark  complexion,  whose  large 
glowing  eyes  and  frizzy  beard  sent  his  penitents  into  rap- 
tures. Marc  knew  his  wife  to  be  possessed  of  too  much 
loyalty  and  too  much  dignity,  both  of  mind  and  body — a 
dignity  that  had  never  forsaken  her  even  in  moments  of  the 
most  passionate  rapture.  But  without  carrying  matters  as 
far  as  that,  was  it  not  admissible  that  the  growing  influence 
of  Father  Th^odose  was  in  part  the  domination  of  a  hand- 
some man  over  a  woman  who  was  still  young — a  man,  too, 
godlike  in  appearance,  and  godlike  claiming  obedience? 
After  her  pious  conversations  with  Father  Theodose,  after 
the  long  hours  she  spent  in  the  confessional,  Genevieve  re- 
turned to  her  husband  quivering,  distracted,  such  as  he  had 


286  TRUTH 

never  seen  her  when  she  retuned  from  her  visits  to  Abbe" 
Quandieu.  In  her  intercourse  with  her  new  confessor  she 
was  certainly  forming  some  mystical  passion,  finding  some 
new  food  for  her  craving  nature.  Perhaps,  too,  the  monk 
availed  himself  of  her  perturbed  state  of  health  to  terrorise 
her.  Indeed,  was  not  the  father  of  the  child  she  bore  one  of 
the  damned?  She  repeatedly  spoke  of  that  child  in  a  despair- 
ing way,  as  if  seized  with  a  kind  of  terror,  like  one  of  those 
mothers  who  dread  lest  they  should  give  birth  to  a  monster. 
And  if  that  happily  should  not  come  to  pass,  how  would  she 
protect  the  child  from  surrounding  sin,  whither  might  she 
carry  her  babe  to  save  it  from  the  contamination  of  its 
father's  sacrilegious  home?  All  this  threw  a  little  light  on 
Genevieve's  rupture  with  Marc — a  rupture  in  which  there 
might  well  be  remorse  at  the  thought  that  her  child  was  also 
the  child  of  an  unbeliever;  then  a  vow  that  she  would  never 
more  be  the  mother  of  that  unbeliever's  children;  and, 
finally,  a  perversion  and  exasperation  of  love,  which  dreamt 
of  finding  satisfaction  henceforth  in  the  au-del&  of  desire. 
Yet  how  much  still  remained  obscure,  and  how  cruelly  did 
Marc  suffer  as  he  saw  himself  forsaken  by  that  adored  wife, 
whom  the  Church  was  wrenching  from  his  arms,  in  order 
that  by  torturing  him  it  might  annihilate  him  and  his  work 
of  human  liberation ! 

One  day,  on  returning  home  after  one  of  her  long  con- 
ferences with  Father  The"odose,  Genevieve,  who  looked 
both  excited  and  exhausted,  said  to  Louise,  who  at  that 
moment  came  in  from  school:  '  To-morrow  at  five  o'clock 
you  will  have  to  go  to  confession  at  the  Capuchins'.  If  you 
do  not  confess,  you  will  no  longer  be  received  at  the  Cate- 
chism class.' 

But  Marc  resolutely  intervened.  While  allowing  Louise 
to  follow  the  Catechism  class,  he  had  hitherto  strongly  op- 
posed her  attendance  at  confession.  '  Louise  will  not  go  to 
the  Capuchins','  he  said,  firmly.  'You  know,  my  dear, 
that  I  have  given  way  on  every  other  point,  but  I  will  not 
allow  the  child  to  go  to  confession.' 

'  Why  not? '  exclaimed  Genevieve,  still  restraining  herself. 

4 1  cannot  repeat  my  reasons  before  the  child.  But  you 
know  them,  and  I  will  not  allow  my  daughter's  mind  to  be 
soiled,  under  the  pretext  of  absolving  her  of  trivial  faults, 
which  her  parents  alone  need  know  and  correct.' 

An  explanation,  indeed,  had  taken  place  between  Marc 
and  Genevieve  on  this  subject.  In  his  opinion  it  was  most 


TRUTH  287 

loathsome  and  abominable  that  a  little  girl  should  be  initi- 
ated to  the  passions  of  the  flesh  by  a  man  who,  by  his  very 
vow  of  chastity,  might  be  led  to  every  curiosity  and  every 
sexual  aberration.  For  ten  priests  who  might  be  prudent, 
it  was  sufficient  there  should  be  one  of  unbalanced  mind, 
and  then  confession  became  filth,  to  which  risk  Marc  refused 
to  expose  his  daughter  Louise.  Besides,  in  that  disturbing 
promiscuity,  that  secret  colloquy  amid  the  mystical,  ener- 
vating atmosphere  and  gloom  of  a  chapel,  there  was  not 
merely  the  possibility  of  demoralisation  for  a  girl  only 
twelve  years  old, — an  anxious  age,  when  the  senses  begin  to 
quicken, — there  was  also  a  seizure  of  her  mind  and  person; 
for  whatever  she  might  become  later,  girl,  wife,  and  mother, 
she  would  always  remain  the  initiate  of  that  minister,  who 
by  his  very  questions  had  violated  her  modesty,  and  thereby 
affianced  her  to  his  jealous  Deity.  From  that  time  forward, 
indeed,  woman,  by  her  avowals,  belonged  to  her  confessor, 
became  his  trembling,  obedient  thing,  ever  ready  to  do  his 
behests,  to  serve,  in  his  hands,  as  an  instrument  of  investi- 
gation and  enthralment. 

'  If  our  daughter  should  be  guilty  of  any  fault,'  Marc  re- 
sumed, '  she  shall  confess  it  to  you  or  me,  whenever  she 
feels  a  need  to  do  so.  That  will  be  more  logical  and 
cleaner.' 

Genevieve  shrugged  her  shoulders,  like  one  who  deemed 
that  solution  to  be  both  blasphemous  and  grotesque.  '  I 
won't  discuss  the  matter  any  further  with  you,'  she  said. 
'  But  just  tell  me  this — if  you  prevent  Louise  from  going  to 
confession,  how  will  she  be  able  to  go  to  her  first  Com- 
munion? ' 

'  Her  first  Communion?  But  is  it  not  settled  that  she  will 
wait  till  her  twentieth  birthday  in  order  to  decide  that  ques- 
tion herself?  I  have  let  her  go  to  the  Catechism  class,  even 
as  she  goes  to  her  cours  of  history  and  sciences — that  is,  in 
order  that  she  may  form  an  opinion  and  decide  later  on. ' 

At  this  Genevieve's  anger  mastered  her.  She  turned 
towards  her  daughter:  'And  you,  Louise,  what  do  you 
think;  what  do  you  desire?  ' 

The  child,  whose  usually  gay  face  had  become  quite 
grave,  had  listened  to  her  father  and  mother  in  silence. 
Whenever  such  quarrels  arose,  she  endeavoured  to  remain 
neutral  from  a  fear  of  embittering  matters.  Her  intelligent 
eyes  glanced  from  one  to  the  other  of  her  parents  as  if  beg 
ging  that  they  would  not  make  themselves  unhappy  on  he: 


288  TRUTH 

account,  for  she  was  grieved  indeed  to  find  that  she  was  so 
constantly  the  cause  of  their  disputes.  But,  though  she 
showed  great  deference  and  affection  for  her  mother,  the 
latter  felt  that  she  inclined  towards  her  father,  whom  in- 
deed she  worshipped,  and  whose  firm  sense  and  passion  for 
truth  and  equity  she  had  inherited. 

For  a  moment  Louise  remained  as  if  undecided,  looking 
at  her  parents  in  her  usual  affectionate  way.  Then  she 
gently  said :  '  What  I  think,  what  I  wish,  mamma?  Why,  I 
should  much  like  it  to  be  whatever  you  and  papa  might 
agree  upon.  But  does  papa's  desire  seem  to  you  so  very 
unreasonable?  Why  not  wait  a  little? ' 

The  mother,  quite  beside  herself,  refused  to  listen  any 
further.  'That  is  not  an  answer,  my  girl,'  she  cried. 
'  Remain  with  your  father  since  you  can  no  longer  show  me 
either  respect  or  obedience!  You  will  end,  between  you, 
by  driving  me  from  the  house ! ' 

Then  she  rushed  away  and  shut  herself  up  in  her  little 
room,  as  she  always  did  nowadays  whenever  she  encountered 
the  slightest  opposition.  This  was  her  method  of  ending 
their  quarrels,  and  on  each  occasion  she  seemed  to  draw 
farther  and  farther  away  from  her  husband  and  her  child, 
to  set  more  and  more  space  between  herself  and  the  dearly- 
loved  family  fireside  of  other  days. 

Her  belief  that  attempts  were  being  made  to  influence  her 
daughter  in  order  that  the  child  might  cast  off  her  authority 
was  strengthened  by  a  fresh  incident.  After  long  and  skil- 
ful manoeuvring,  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  had  at  last  secured 
the  post  of  first  assistant  teacher  at  Beaumont,  which  post 
she  had  coveted  for  years.  Inspector  Le  Barazer  had 
yielded  in  the  matter  to  the  pressing  applications  of  the 
clerical  deputies  and  senators,  at  the  head  of  whom  Count 
Hector  de  Sanglebceuf  marched  with  the  noisy  bustling  gait 
of  a  great  captain.  But  to  compensate  politically  for  this 
step,  Le  Barazer,  with  his  usual  maliciousness,  had  caused 
the  vacant  post  at  Maillebois  to  be  assigned  to  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline,  the  schoolmistress  at  Jonville,  whose  good  sense 
Marc  so  greatly  admired.  Perhaps,  also,  the  Academy  In- 
spector, who  still  covertly  supported  Marc,  had  desired  to 
place  a  friend  beside  him,  one  whose  object  would  be  the 
same  as  his  own,  who  would  not  try  to  thwart  him  at  every 
step,  as  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  had  done.  At  all  events, 
when  Mayor  Philis,  in  the  name  of  the  Municipal  Council, 
complained  to  Le  Barazer  of  this  appointment,  which,  said 


TRUTH  289 

he,  would  place  the  little  girls  of  Maillebois  in  the  hands 
of  an  unbelieving  woman,  the  Academy  Inspector  affected 
great  astonishment.  What !  had  he  not  acted  in  accordance 
with  Count  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf's  pressing  application? 
Was  it  his  fault  if,  owing  to  promotions  among  the  school 
staff,  a  most  meritorious  person,  of  whom  no  parents  had 
ever  complained,  had  become  entitled  in  due  order  to  the 
post  at  Maillebois? 

As  a  matter  of  fact,  Mademoiselle  Mazeline's  dtbut  in  the 
town  proved  very  successful.  People  were  struck  by  her 
gay  serenity,  the  maternal  manner  in  which  from  the  very 
first  day  she  gained  the  affection  of  her  pupils.  All  gentle- 
ness and  zeal,  she  directed  her  efforts  in  such  wise  that  her 
daughters,  as  she  called  them,  might  become  worthy  women, 
wives,  and  mothers.  But  she  did  not  take  them  to  Mass, 
and  she  suppressed  processions,  prayers,  and  Catechism 
lessons.  Before  long,  therefore,  a  few  other  mothers,  who 
belonged  to  the  clerical  faction,  like  Genevieve,  began  to 
protest.  Indeed,  though  she  had  no  cause  to  congratulate 
herself  on  her  intercourse  with  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire, 
whose  intrigues  had  disturbed  her  home,  she  now  seemed  to 
regret  her,  and  spoke  of  the  new  schoolmistress  as  a  most 
suspicious  character,  who  was  capable  of  the  blackest 
enterprises. 

'  You  hear  me,  Louise,'  she  said  one  day;  '  if  Mademoi- 
selle Mazeline  should  say  anything  wrong  to  you,  you  must 
tell  me.  I  won't  allow  my  daughter's  soul  to  be  stolen  from 
me!' 

Marc  could  not  refrain  from  intervening.  '  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline  stealing  souls!  '  said  he;  'that  's  foolish!  When 
we  were  at  Jonville  you  used  to  admire  her,  as  I  did.  No 
woman  has  a  loftier  mind  or  a  more  tender  heart. ' 

'Oh!  naturally  you  back  her  up,'  Genevieve  replied; 
'  you  are  well  fitted  to  understand  each  other.  Go  and  join 
her,  hand  our  daughter  over  to  her,  since  I  am  no  longer  of 
any  account!  ' 

Then,  once  again,  Genevieve  hastened  to  her  room,  where 
little  Louise  had  to  join  her,  weep  with  her,  and  entreat  her 
for  hours  before  she  could  be  induced  to  attend  to  the  home 
again. 

All  at  once  some  almost  incredible  news  reached  Maille- 
bois, throwing  the  town  into  no  little  emotion.  Advocate 
Delbos,  who  had  gone  to  Paris  and  addressed  himself  to 
some  of  the  Government  departments,  laying  before  the 


2QO  TRUTH 

officials  the  famous  duplicate  copy-slip  furnished  by  Madame 
Alexandre,  had  prevailed  on  them — by  what  high  influence 
nobody  knew — to  order  a  perquisition  in  Father  Philibin's 
rooms  at  Valmarie.  The  extraordinary  part  of  the  affair 
was  the  lightning-like  speed  with  which  this  perquisition 
was  made,  the  Commissary  of  Police  arriving  at  the  College 
quite  unexpectedly,  then  at  once  examining  the  collection 
of  documents  formed  by  the  Prefect  of  the  Studies,  and,  in 
the  second  portfolio  he  opened,  discovering  an  envelope, 
already  yellow  with  age,  which  contained  the  fragment  of 
the  copy-slip  torn  off  so  long  ago.  There  was  no  question 
of  denying  its  authenticity,  for  when  placed  in  position  at 
the  corner  of  the  mutilated  slip  it  fitted  exactly. 

It  was  added  that  Father  Philibin,  whom  Father  Crabot — 
utterly  upset  by  the  affair — immediately  interrogated,  had 
made  a  frank  confession,  explaining  his  conduct  by  a  kind 
of  instinctive  impulse,  his  hand  having  acted  before  his 
mind  had  time  to  think,  so  great  had  been  his  anxiety  on 
seeing  the  stamp  of  the  Brother's  school  upon  the  copy-slip, 
when  he  found  the  latter  in  Z^phirin's  room.  If  he  had 
remained  silent  afterwards,  this  was  because  a  careful  study 
of  the  affair  had  convinced  him  that  Simon  was  indeed  the 
culprit,  and  had  intentionally  made  use  of  what  was  evi- 
dently a  gross  forgery  in  order  to  injure  religion.  Thus 
Father  Philibin  gloried  in  his  act,  for  by  tearing  off  that 
corner  and  afterwards  preserving  silence,  he  had  behaved 
like  a  hero  who  set  Holy  Church  high  above  the  justice  of 
men.  Would  not  a  vulgar  accomplice  have  destroyed  the 
fragment?  As  the  reverend  Father  had  preserved  it,  could 
one  not  understand  that  it  had  been  his  intention  to  re- 
establish all  the  facts  whenever  it  might  become  advisable 
to  do  so?  Such  was  the  language  held  by  some  of  his  par- 
tisans, but  there  were  folk  who  attributed  the  preservation 
of  the  fragment  to  his  mania  for  keeping  even  the  smallest 
scraps  of  paper,  and  who  thought  also  that  he  had  wished 
to  remain  in  possession  of  a  weapon  which  might  prove  use- 
ful against  others. 

It  was  said  that  Father  Crabot,  who  for  his  part  destroyed 
even  the  cards  which  visitors  left  for  him,  was  exasperated 
with  his  colleague,  and  that  in  his  surprise  and  fury  at  the 
first  moment  he  had  cried :  '  What !  I  gave  him  orders  to 
burn  everything,  and  he  kept  that!  '  In  any  case,  on  the 
evening  of  the  day  when  the  discovery  was  made  by  the 
Commissary,  Father  Philibin,  against  whom  as  yet  no 


TRUTH  291 

warrant  had  been  issued,  disappeared.  When  pious  souls 
anxiously  inquired  what  had  become  of  him,  they  were  told 
that  Father  Poirier,  the  Provincial  of  Beaumont,  had  de- 
cided to  send  him  to  a  convent  in  Italy  to  observe  a  retreat; 
and  there,  as  if  engulfed,  he  was  at  once  buried  in  eternal 
silence. 

The  revision  of  Simon's  case  now  appeared  to  be  in- 
evitable. Delbos  sent  for  David  and  Marc,  in  order  to  de- 
cide in  what  form  the  necessary  application  to  the  Minister 
of  Justice  should  be  made.  The  discovery  of  the  long- 
missing  corner  of  the  copy-slip  would  alone  suffice  for  the 
sentence  of  the  Court  of  Beaumont  to  be  quashed,  and  the 
advocate  was  of  opinion  that  they  ought  to  content  them- 
selves with  this  discovery,  and,  for  the  time  at  all  events, 
leave  on  one  side  the  illegal  communication  which  Judge 
Gragnon  had  made  to  the  jurors.  Moreover,  the  circum- 
stances of  that  communication,  now  difficult  of  proof,  would 
be  brought  to  light  during  the  new  investigations  which 
must  ensue.  Meantime,  as  the  truth  in  the  matter  of  the 
copy-slip  was  manifest,  as  the  report  of  the  handwriting 
experts  was  entirely  upset,  the  origin  of  the  stamped  and 
initialled  slip  constituting  such  a  damaging  element  in  the 
case  that  Father  Philibin  had  practised  dissimulation  and 
falsehood  to  conceal  it,  the  advocate  considered  it  best  to 
assail  Brother  Gorgias  without  more  ado.  When  Marc  and 
David  quitted  Delbos  that  decision  had  been  adopted ;  and 
on  the  morrow  David  addressed  to  the  Minister  a  letter  in 
which  he  formally  accused  Brother  Gorgias  of  having  com- 
mitted a  heinous  offence  on  little  Ze"phirin,  and  murdered 
him,  for  which  crimes  his,  David's,  brother  Simon  had  been 
in  penal  servitude  for  ten  years. 

Emotion  then  reached  a  climax.  On  the  day  after  the 
discovery  of  the  corner  of  the  copy-slip  among  Father 
Philibin's  papers,  there  had  come  an  hour  of  lassitude  and 
discomfiture  among  the  most  ardent  supporters  of  the 
Church.  This  time  the  battle  really  seemed  to  be  lost,  and 
Le  Petit  Beaumontais  even  printed  an  article  in  which  the 
conduct  of  the  reverend  Jesuit  was  roundly  blamed.  But 
two  days  later  the  faction  had  recovered  its  self-possession, 
and  the  very  same  newspaper  proceeded  to  canonise  theft 
and  falsehood.  St.  Philibin,  hero  and  martyr,  was  por- 
trayed amid  a  setting  of  palms,  and  with  a  halo  about  his 
head.  A  legend  likewise  arose,  showing  the  reverend 
Father  in  a  remote  convent  of  the  Apennines,  surrounded 


292  TRUTH 

by  wild  forests.  There,  wearing  a  hair-cloth  next  his  skin, 
he  prayed  devoutly  both  by  day  and  by  night,  and  offered 
himself  in  sacrifice  for  the  sins  of  the  world.  And  on  the 
back  of  the  pious  little  pictures  which  circulated,  showing 
him  on  his  knees,  there  was  a  prayer  by  repeating  which 
the  faithful  might  gain  indulgences. 

The  resounding  accusation  launched  against  Brother 
Gorgias  fully  restored  to  the  clericals  their  rageful  determi- 
nation to  attack  and  conquer,  convinced  as  they  were  that 
the  victory  of  the  Jew  would  shake  the  Congregations  in  a 
terrible  fashion  and  leave  a  gaping  breach  in  the  very  heart 
of  the  Church.  All  the  anti-Simonists  of  former  days  rose 
up  again,  more  uncompromising  than  ever,  eager  to  conquer 
or  to  die.  And  the  old  battle  began  afresh  on  every  side; 
on  one  hand  all  the  free-minded  men  who  believed  in  truth 
and  equity  and  looked  to  the  future,  on  the  other  all  the 
reactionaries,  the  believers  in  authority,  who  clung  to  the 
past  with  its  God  of  wrath,  and  based  salvation  on  priests 
and  soldiers.  The  Municipal  Council  of  Maillebois  again 
quarrelled  about  schoolmaster  Froment,  families  were  rent 
asunder,  the  Brothers'  pupils  and  Marc's  stoned  one  an- 
other on  the  Place  de  la  Republique  after  lessons.  Then, 
too,  the  fine  society  of  Beaumont  was  utterly  upset,  such 
was  the  feverish  anxiety  of  all  who  had  participated  in  any 
way  in  Simon's  trial. 

For  one  man,  such  as  Salvan,  who  rejoiced  with  Marc  at 
each  successive  interview,  how  many  there  were  who  no 
longer  slept  o'  nights  at  the  thought  that  all  the  iniquity 
which  had  been  buried  was  about  to  be  exhumed !  Fresh 
elections  were  impending,  and  the  politicians  feared  lest 
they  should  be  unseated.  Lemarrois,  the  Radical,  the  ex- 
Mayor  of  Beaumont,  once  the  town's  indispensable  man, 
was  terrified  by  the  rise  of  Delbos's  popularity;  Marcilly,  the 
amiable  arriviste,  ever  anxious  to  be  on  the  winning  side, 
floundered  in  uncertainty,  no  longer  knowing  which  party 
to  support;  the  reactionary  senators  and  deputies,  headed 
by  the  fierce  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf,  resisted  desperately  as 
they  saw  the  storm,  which  might  sweep  them  away,  rising 
all  round.  In  the  government  world  and  the  university 
world  the  anxiety  was  no  less  keen;  Prefect  Hennebise 
lamented  that  he  could  not  stifle  the  affair;  Rector  Forbes, 
losing  his  depth,  cast  everything  upon  the  shoulders  of 
Academy  Inspector  Le  Barazer,  who  alone  remained  calm 
and  smiling  amid  the  tempest,  while  Depinvilliers,  the 


TRUTH  293 

Director  of  the  Lyce"e,  took  his  daughters  to  Mass  despair- 
ingly, even  as  one  may  throw  oneself  into  a  river,  and  In- 
spector Mauraisin,  in  anguish  and  astonishment  at  the  turn 
which  things  were  taking,  wondered  if  the  time  had  not 
come  to  go  over  to  the  Freemasons.1 

But  the  emotion  was  particularly  keen  in  the  judicial 
world,  for  did  not  a  revision  of  the  former  trial  mean  a  new 
trial  directed  against  the  judges  who  had  conducted  the  first 
proceedings?  and  if  the  papers  in  the  case  should  be  ex- 
humed and  examined  would  not  terrible  revelations  ensue? 
Investigating  Magistrate  Daix,  that  unlucky  honest  man, 
who  was  haunted  by  remorse  for  having  yielded  to  his  wife's 
covetous  ambition,  looked  livid  when  he  repaired  in  silence 
each  morning  to  his  office  at  the  Palace  of  Justice.  And 
if  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere,  the  dapper  Public  Prosecutor, 
made,  on  the  contrary,  an  excessive  show  of  good  humour 
and  ease  of  mind,  one  could  divine  that  he  did  so  from  a 
torturing  desire  to  prevent  his  fears  from  being  seen.  As 
for  Presiding  Judge  Gragnon,  who  was  the  most  compro- 
mised of  all,  he  seemed  to  have  aged  quite  suddenly;  his 
face  had  become  heavy,  his  shoulders  bent  beneath  some 
invisible  weight,  and  he  dragged  his  big  body  about  with 
shuffling  steps,  unless  he  noticed  that  he  was  being  watched, 
when,  with  a  suspicious  glance,  he  made  an  effort  to  draw 
himself  erect.  Meantime  the  gentlemen's  ladies  had  once 
more  transformed  their  salons  into  hotbeds  of  intrigue, 
barter,  and  propaganda.  And  from  the  bourgeois  to  their 
servants,  from  the  servants  to  the  tradespeople,  from  the 
tradespeople  to  the  working  classes,  the  whole  population 
followed  on,  becoming  more  and  more  crazed  amid  the 
tempest  which  cast  men  and  things  into  general  de- 
mentia. 

The  sudden  self-effacement  of  Father  Crabot,  whose  tall 
and  elegant  figure  and  whose  handsome  gowns  of  fine  cloth 
were  so  well  known  at  the  reception  hour  in  the  Avenue  des 
Jaffres,  was  much  remarked.  He  ceased  to  show  himself 
there,  and  a  proof  of  excellent  taste  and  profound  piety  was 
detected  in  his  desire  for  retreat  and  meditation,  of  which 
his  friends  spoke  with  devout  emotion.  As  Father  Philibin 
also  had  disappeared,  the  only  one  of  the  superior  ecclesi- 
astics who  remained  in  the  front  rank  was  Brother  Fulgence, 
who  somehow  always  contrived  to  act  in  a  compromising 

1  The  French  Freemasons  are  largely  identified  with  Republican  and 
anti-Catholic  views. —  7'rans. 


294  TRUTH 

way,  bestirring  himself  too  much,  showing  indeed  such 
clumsiness  at  each  step  he  took  that  nasty  rumours  began 
to  circulate  among  the  clericals,  in  accordance,  no  doubt, 
with  some  order  from  Valmarie  to  sacrifice  the  Brother. 

But  the  hero,  the  extraordinary  figure  of  the  time,  one 
that  became  more  and  more  amazing  every  day,  was  Brother 
Gorgias,  who  met  the  accusation  brought  against  him  with 
prodigious  audacity.  On  the  very  evening  of  the  day  when 
David's  letter  denouncing  him  was  made  public,  he  hastened 
to  the  office  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  to  answer  it,  insulting 
the  Jews,  inventing  extraordinary  stories,  clothing  true  facts 
with  falsehoods  of  genius,  fit  to  disturb  the  soundest  minds. 
He  scoffed,  too,  asking  if  schoolmasters  were  in  the  habit 
of  walking  about  with  copy-slips  in  their  pockets;  and  he 
denied  everything,  both  paraph  and  stamp,  explaining  that 
Simon,  who  had  imitated  his  handwriting,  might  very  well 
have  procured  a  stamp  from  the  Brothers'  school,  or  even 
have  had  one  made.  It  was  idiotic;  but  he  nevertheless 
proclaimed  this  version  in  such  a  thundering  voice  and  with 
such  violent  gestures  that  it  was  accepted,  and  became 
official  truth.  From  that  moment  Le  Petit  Beaumontais 
showed  no  hesitation;  it  adopted  the  story  of  the  forged 
stamp  as  it  had  adopted  that  of  the  forged  paraph,  the 
whole  theory  of  abominable  premeditation  on  the  part  of 
Simon,  who,  in  committing  his  crime,  had  sought  with  in- 
fernal cunning  to  cast  it  upon  a  holy  man,  in  order  to  soil 
the  Church!  And  this  imbecile  invention  impassioned  all 
the  folk  who  were  brutified  by  centuries  of  Catechism  and 
bondage.  Brother  Gorgias  rose  to  be  a  martyr  of  the  Faith, 
like  Father  Philibin. 

He  could  no  longer  show  himself  without  being  acclaimed, 
women  kissed  the  hem  of  his  frock,  children  asked  him  to 
bless  them,  while  he,  impudent  and  triumphant,  harangued 
the  crowds,  and  indulged  in  the  most  extravagant  mum- 
mery, like  a  popular  idol,  a  mountebank  before  a  booth, 
certain  of  applause.  Yet,  behind  all  that  assurance,  those 
who  were  warned,  who  knew  the  truth,  detected  the  anxious 
distress  of  that  wretched  man  who  was  forced  to  play  a 
part,  the  folly  and  fragility  of  which  he  was  the  first  to 
recognise.  And  it  was  evident  that  in  him  one  simply  had 
an  actor  on  the  stage,  a  tragic  puppet  whose  strings  were 
pulled  by  invisible  hands.  Though  Father  Crabot  had 
hidden  himself  away,  humbly  cloistered  himself  in  his  bare, 
cold  cell  at  Valmarie,  his  black  shadow  still  passed  across 


TRUTH  295 

the  scene,  and  one  could  divine  that  his  were  the  dexterous 
hands  which  pulled  the  strings,  pushed  the  puppets  forward, 
and  toiled  for  the  triumph  of  the  Congregations. 

Amid  the  greatest  commotion,  and  despite  the  opposition 
of  all  the  coalesced  reactionary  forces,  the  Minister  of  Jus- 
tice was  obliged  to  lay  the  application  for  revision,  drawn 
up  by  David  on  behalf  of  Madame  Simon  and  her  children, 
before  the  Court  of  Cassation.  This  was  truth's  first  vic- 
tory, and  for  a  moment  the  clerical  faction  seemed  to  be 
overwhelmed.  But  on  the  morrow  the  struggle  began 
afresh.  Even  the  Court  of  Cassation  was  cast  into  the 
mud,  insulted  every  morning,  accused  of  having  sold  itself 
to  the  Jews.  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  enumerated  the  amounts 
which  had  been  paid,  libelled  the  presiding  judge,  the  gen- 
eral prosecutor,  and  the  counsellors  by  relating  all  sorts  of 
abominable  stories  about  their  private  lives,  which  stories 
were  inventions  from  beginning  to  end.  During  the  two 
months  occupied  by  the  preparation  of  the  case  the  river  of 
filth  never  ceased  to  flow;  no  manoeuvre,  however  iniqui- 
tous, no  lie,  even  no  crime,  was  left  untried  to  stay  the 
march  of  inexorable  justice.  At  last,  after  memorable  dis- 
cussions, during  which  several  judges  gave  a  high  example 
of  healthy  common-sense  and  courageous  equity,  superior 
to  all  passion,  the  Court  gave  its  decision,  which,  although 
foreseen,  burst  on  its  slanderers  like  a  thunder-clap.  It 
retained  the  cause,  declared  that  there  was  ground  for  re- 
vision, and  recognised  the  necessity  of  an  investigation, 
which  it  decided  to  conduct  itself. 

That  evening  Marc,  when  afternoon  lessons  were  over, 
found  himself  alone  in  his  little  garden,  in  the  warm  twilight 
of  springtime.  Louise  had  not  yet  come  in  from  school,  for 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  whose  favourite  pupil  she  had  be- 
come, sometimes  kept  her  with  her.  As  for  Genevieve, 
ever  since  dtjeuner,  she  had  been  absent  at  her  grand- 
mother's, where,  indeed,  she  now  spent  nearly  all  her  time. 
And,  despite  the  fresh  perfume  which  the  lilacs  shed  in  the 
warm  air,  Marc,  as  he  paced  the  garden  paths,  was  pursued 
by  bitter,  torturing  thoughts  of  his  devastated  home.  He 
had  not  given  way  on  the  subject  of  Confession — indeed, 
his  daughter  had  lately  quitted  the  Catechism  class,  the 
priest  having  refused  to  receive  her  any  longer  if  she  did 
not  come  to  him  by  way  of  the  Confessional.  But,  morning 
and  evening  alike,  Marc  had  to  contend  against  the  attacks 
of  his  wife,  who  was  exasperated,  maddened,  by  the  idea 


296  TRUTH 

that  Louise  would  be  damned,  and  that  she  herself  would 
be  virtually  an  accomplice  in  it  as  she  could  not  find  the 
strength  to  take  the  girl  in  her  arms  and  carry  her  to  the 
tribunal  of  penitence.  She  remembered  her  own  adorable 
first  Communion,  the  loveliest  day  of  her  life,  with  her  white 
gown,  the  incense,  the  candles,  the  gentle  Jesus  to  whom 
she  had  so  sweetly  affianced  herself,  and  who  had  remained 
her  only  real  spouse,  the  spouse  of  a  divine  love,  the  de- 
lights of  which — she  vowed  it — were  the  only  ones  which  she 
would  taste  henceforth.  But  was  her  daughter  to  be  robbed 
of  such  felicity,  degraded,  reduced  to  the  level  of  the  beasts 
of  the  field,  which  knew  no  religion?  She  could  not  bear 
such  a  thought,  but  sought  every  possible  opportunity  to 
wring  a  consent  from  her  husband,  changing  the  family 
hearth  into  a  battlefield,  where  the  most  futile  incidents 
gave  rise  to  endless  bickering. 

The  night  was  falling,  slowly  and  peacefully;  and  Marc, 
on  whom  for  the  moment  a  feeling  of  great  lassitude  had 
come,  felt  astonished  that  he  should  be  able  to  resist  his 
wife  with  a  courage  which  was  cruel  for  her,  himself,  and 
their  daughter.  All  his  old  spirit  of  tolerance  came  back; 
he  had  allowed  his  daughter  to  be  baptised,  so  might  he  not 
also  allow  her  to  make  her  first  Communion?  The  reasons 
which  his  wife  urged,  reasons  to  which  he  had  long  bowed 
— respect  of  individual  liberty,  the  rights  of  a  mother,  the 
rights  of  conscience — were  not  without  weight.  In  a  home 
the  mother  necessarily  became  the  educator  and  initiator, 
particularly  when  girls  were  in  question.  To  take  no  ac- 
count of  her  ideas,  to  oppose  the  desires  of  her  mind  and 
heart,  meant  surely  the  wrecking  of  the  home.  Nought 
was  left  of  the  bond  of  agreement  which  a  home  requires  to 
flourish,  all  happiness  was  destroyed,  the  parents  and  their 
child  lapsed  into  horrible  warfare — that  warfare  from  which 
Marc's  own  home,  once  so  united  and  so  sweet,  now  suffered. 
And  thus,  while  pacing  the  narrow  paths  of  his  little  garden, 
across  which  the  shadows  were  spreading,  Marc  asked  him- 
self whether  and  in  what  manner  he  might  give  way  again 
in  order  to  restore  a  little  peace  and  happiness. 

A  feeling  of  remorse  tortured  him;  for  was  not  his  mis- 
fortune due  to  himself?  His  share  of  responsibility  had  be- 
come manifest  to  him  more  than  once,  and  he  had  asked 
himself  why,  on  the  morrow  of  his  marriage,  he  had  not 
endeavoured  to  win  Genevieve  over  to  his  own  belief.  At 
that  time,  amid  the  first  revelation  of  love,  she  had  indeed 


TRUTH  297 

belonged  to  him,  she  had  cast  herself  into  his  arms  with  all 
confidence,  ready  to  mingle  with  him,  in  such  wise  that  they 
might  be  of  one  flesh  and  one  mind.  He  alone,  at  that 
unique  hour  of  life,  might  have  had  the  power  to  wrest  the 
woman  from  the  priest,  and  turn  the  child  of  the  ages, 
bending  beneath  the  dread  of  hell,  into  the  conscious  com- 
panion of  his  own  existence,  a  companion  whose  mind 
would  be  freed,  opened  to  truth  and  equity. 

At  the  time  of  their  earliest  quarrels  Genevieve  herself 
had  cried  it  to  him:  '  If  you  suffer  because  we  do  not  think 
the  same,  it  is  your  own  fault!  You  should  have  taught 
me.  I  am  such  as  I  was  made,  and  the  misfortune  is  that 
you  did  not  know  how  to  make  me  anew! ' 

She  had  got  far  beyond  that  point  now;  she  did  not  allow 
that  he  could  possibly  influence  her,  such  had  become  the 
unshakable  pride  of  her  faith.  Nevertheless,  he  bitterly 
recalled  his  lost  opportunity,  and  deplored  his  egotistical 
adoration  during  the  delightful  springtime  of  their  married 
life,  when  he  had  never  ceased  to  admire  her  beauty,  with- 
out a  thought  of  diving  into  her  conscience  and  enlightening 
her.  True,  he  had  not  then  imagined  that  he  would  be- 
come an  artisan  of  truth  such  as  he  was  to-day;  he  had  ac- 
cepted certain  compromises,  imagining  that  he  was  strong 
enough  to  remain  the  master.  Indeed,  all  his  present  tor- 
ture arose  from  his  whilom  masculine  vanity,  the  blind 
weakness  of  his  early  love. 

He  knew  that  now,  and  as  he  paused  before  a  lilac  bush, 
whose  flowers,  open  since  the  previous  day,  were  shedding 
a  penetrating  perfume  around,  a  sudden  flame,  a  renewed 
desire  to  fight  and  conquer,  arose  within  him.  Even  if  he 
had  formerly  failed  in  his  duty,  was  that  a  reason  for  him 
to  fail  in  it  now,  by  allowing  his  daughter  to  wreck  her  life 
in  the  same  way  as  her  mother  had  wrecked  hers?  Such 
remissness  on  his  part  would  be  the  more  unpardonable  as 
he  had  taken  on  himself  the  task  of  saving  the  children  of 
others  from  the  falsehoods  of  the  centuries.  Perhaps  it  might 
be  allowable  for  some  obscurely  situated  man  to  put  up  with 
the  doings  of  a  bigot  wife,  who  was  intent  on  crazing  her 
daughter  with  foolish  and  dangerous  practices;  but  how 
could  he  accept  such  a  position — he  who  had  removed  the 
crucifix  from  his  classroom,  he  whose  teaching  was  strictly 
secular,  he  who  openly  proclaimed  the  necessity  of  saving 
woman  from  the  Church  if  one  desired  to  build  the  Happy 
City  Would  not  his  acceptance  of  such  a  position  be  the 


298  TRUTH 

fullest  possible  confession  of  impotence?  It  would  be  the 
denial  and  the  annihilation  of  his  mission.  He  would  lose 
all  power,  all  authority  to  ask  others  to  do  that  which  he 
could  or  would  not  do  himself  in  his  own  home.  And 
what  an  example  of  hypocrisy  and  egotistical  weakness 
would  he  not  give  to  his  daughter,  who  was  acquainted  with 
his  ideas,  and  knew  him  to  be  opposed  to  Confession  and 
Communion.  Would  she  not  wonder  why  he  tolerated  at 
home  the  actions  which  he  condemned  when  their  neigh- 
bours were  in  question?  Would  it  not  seem  to  her  that  he 
thought  one  way  and  acted  another?  Ah !  no,  no,  tolerance 
had  become  impossible;  he  could  no  longer  give  way  unless 
he  desired  to  see  his  work  of  deliverance  crumble  beneath 
universal  contempt. 

Once  more  Marc  began  to  walk  to  and  fro  under  the 
paling  sky,  where  the  first  stars  were  beginning  to  twinkle. 
One  of  the  triumphs  of  the  Church  was  that  freethinking 
parents  did  not  remove  their  children  from  its  control, 
bound  as  they  were  by  social  usages,  and  fearful  of  scandal. 
There  was  an  apprehension  among  them  that  they  might 
fail  to  start  their  sons  in  life,  or  find  husbands  for  their 
daughters,  if  the  children  did  not  at  least  pass  through  the 
formal  routine  of  the  sacraments.  So  who  would  begin, 
who  would  set  the  example?  No  doubt  it  would  be  neces- 
sary to  wait  a  very  long  time  for  a  general  change,  the  time 
which  science  might  require  to  destroy  dogma  as  a  matter 
of  usage,  even  as  it  had  already  destroyed  it  as  a  matter  of 
sense.  Yet  it  was  the  duty  of  brave  minds  to  set  the  first 
examples,  examples  which  the  Church  dreaded,  and  which 
nowadays  impelled  it  to  make  so  many  efforts  to  retain  the 
support  and  favour  of  women,  whom  it  had  so  long  brutal- 
ised,  treated  as  daughters  of  the  devil,  responsible  for  all 
the  sins  of  the  world. 

It  seemed  to  Marc  that  the  Jesuits,  who  by  a  stroke  of 
genius  had  resolved  to  adapt  the  Deity  to  the  requirements 
of  human  passions,  were  the  real  artisans  of  the  great  move- 
ment which  had  placed  women  as  instruments  of  political 
and  social  conquest  in  the  hands  of  the  priests.  The  Church 
had  cursed  human  love,  and  now  it  employed  it.  It  had 
treated  woman  as  a  monster  of  lewdness,  from  whom  it  was 
the  duty  of  the  Saints  to  flee ;  yet  now  it  caressed  her,  loaded 
her  with  flattery,  made  her  the  ornament  and  mainstay  of 
the  sanctuary,  having  resolved  to  exploit  her  power  over 
man. 


TRUTH  299 

Indeed  sexuality  flames  among  the  candles  of  the  altars, 
the  priests  nowadays  accept  it  as  a  means  of  grace,  use  it  as 
a  trap  in  which  they  hope  to  recapture  and  master  man. 
Does  not  all  the  disunion,  the  painful  quarrel  of  contempo- 
rary society,  spring  from  the  divorce  existing  between  man 
and  woman,  the  former  half  freed,  the  latter  still  a  serf,  a 
petted,  hallucinated  slave  of  expiring  Catholicism?  The 
problem  lies  in  that;  we  men  should  not  leave  the  Church 
to  profit  by  the  mystical  rapture  in  which  it  steeps  our 
daughters  and  our  wives,  we  should  wrest  from  it  the  merit 
of  the  spurious  deliverance  it  brings  to  them,  we  should  de- 
liver them  really  from  all  their  fancies,  and  take  them  from 
the  Church  to  ourselves,  since  indeed  they  are  ours,  even 
as  we  are  theirs. 

Marc  reflected  that  there  were  three  forces  in  presence: 
man,  woman,  and  the  Church,  and  instead  of  woman  and 
the  Church  being  arrayed  against  man,  it  was  necessary 
that  man  and  woman  should  be  arrayed  against  the  Church. 
Besides,  were  not  man  and  wife  one?  Neither  could  act 
without  the  other,  whereas  united  in  flesh  and  in  mind  they 
became  invincible,  the  very  force  of  life,  the  very  embodi- 
ment of  happiness  in  the  midst  of  conquered  nature.  And 
the  one,  sole,  true  solution  suddenly  became  manifest  to 
Marc :  woman  must  be  taught,  enlightened,  she  must  be  set 
in  her  rightful  place  as  our  equal  and  our  companion,  for 
only  the  freed  woman  can  free  man. 

At  the  moment  when,  calmed  and  comforted,  Marc  was 
regaining  the  courage  he  needed  to  continue  fighting,  he 
heard  Genevieve  come  in,  and  went  to  join  her  in  the  class- 
room where  a  little  vague  light  still  lingered.  He  found 
her  standing  there,  and  though  the  birth  of  the  child  she 
expected  was  now  near  at  hand,  she  carried  herself  so  up- 
right, in  such  an  aggressive  posture,  with  such  brilliant 
eyes,  that  he  felt  a  supreme  storm  to  be  imminent. 

'  Well,  are  you  pleased? '  she  asked  him  curtly. 

4  Pleased  with  what,  my  darling? ' 

'Ah!  you  don't  know  then.  .  .  .  So  I  shall  have  the 
pleasure  of  being  the  first  to  give  you  the  great  news.  .  .  . 
Your  heroic  efforts  have  been  successful,  the  news  has  just 
arrived  by  telegraph.  The  Court  of  Cassation  has  decided 
in  favour  of  the  revision  of  the  affair.' 

Marc  raised  a  cry  of  intense  joy,  unwilling  to  notice  the 
tone  of  furious  irony  in  which  Genevieve  had  announced 
the  triumph:  'At  last!  So  there  are  some  real  judges  after 


300  TRUTH 

all!  The  innocent  man  will  suffer  no  longer.  .  .  .  But 
is  the  news  quite  certain? ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  quite  certain,  I  had  it  from  honourable  people 
to  whom  it  was  telegraphed.  Yes,  the  abomination  is  com- 
plete and  you  may  well  rejoice.' 

In  Genevieve's  quivering  bitterness  there  was  an  echo  of 
the  violent  scene  which,  doubtless,  she  had  just  witnessed 
at  her  grandmother's  house,  whither  some  priest  or  monk, 
some  friend  of  Father  Crabot's,  had  hastened  to  impart  the 
tidings  of  the  catastrophe  which  imperilled  religion. 

But  Marc,  as  if  determined  not  to  understand,  opened  his 
arms  to  his  wife,  saying:  'Thank  you;  I  could  not  have 
had  a  better-loved  messenger.  Kiss  me !  ' 

Genevieve  brushed  him  aside  with  a  gesture  of  hatred. 
'Kiss  you!'  she  cried.  'Why?  Because  you  have  been 
the  artisan  of  an  infamous  deed ;  because  this  criminal  vic- 
tory over  religion  rejoices  you?  It  is  your  country,  your 
family,  yourself,  that  you  cast  into  the  mire  in  order  to  save 
that  filthy  Jew,  the  greatest  scoundrel  in  all  the  world! ' 

'  Do  not  say  such  things, '  replied  Marc  in  a  gentle,  en- 
treating way,  seeking  to  pacify  her.  '  How  can  you  repeat 
such  monstrous  words,  you  who  used  to  be  so  intelligent 
and  so  kind-hearted?  Is  it  true,  then,  that  error  is  so  con- 
tagious that  it  may  obscure  the  soundest  minds?  Just  think 
a  little.  You  know  all;  Simon  is  innocent;  and  to  leave 
him  still  in  penal  servitude  would  be  frightful  iniquity — a 
source  of  social  rottenness  which  would  end  by  destroying 
the  nation.' 

'  No,  no ! '  she  cried,  with  a  kind  of  mystical  exaltation ; 
'  Simon  is  guilty — men  of  recognised  holiness  accused  him, 
and  accuse  him  still ;  and  to  regard  him  as  innocent  it  would 
be  necessary  to  discard  all  faith  in  religion,  to  believe  God 
Himself  capable  of  error!  No,  no!  he  must  stay  at  the 
galleys,  for  on  the  day  of  his  release  nothing  divine,  nothing 
that  one  may  revere,  would  be  left  on  earth!  ' 

Marc  was  becoming  impatient.  '  I  cannot  understand,' 
said  he,  '  how  we  can  disagree  on  so  clear  a  question  of  truth 
and  justice.  Heaven  has  nothing  to  do  with  this.' 

'  It  has.     There  is  no  truth  or  justice  outside  heaven!  ' 

'  Ah !  that  is  the  gist  of  it  all — that  explains  our  disagree- 
ment and  torture !  You  would  still  think  as  I  do  if  you  had 
not  set  heaven  between  us !  And  you  will  come  back  to  me 
on  the  day  when  you  consent  to  live  on  earth  and  show  a 
healthy  mind  and  a  sisterly  heart.  There  is  only  one  truth, 


TRUTH  3OI 

one  justice,  such  as  science  establishes  under  the  control 
of  human  certainty  and  solidarity ! ' 

Genevieve  was  becoming  exasperated :  '  Let  us  come  to 
the  point  once  and  for  all, '  she  retorted.  '  It  is  my  religion 
that  you  wish  to  destroy!  ' 

'  Yes, '  he  cried ;  '  it  is  against  your  Roman  Catholicism 
that  I  fight  —  against  the  imbecility  of  its  teaching,  the 
hypocrisy  of  its  practices,  the  perversion  of  its  worship,  its 
deadly  action  on  children  and  women,  and  its  social  in- 
juriousness.  The  Roman  Catholic  Church  —  that  is  the 
enemy  of  whom  we  must  first  clear  the  path.  Before  the 
social  question,  before  the  political  question,  comes  the  re- 
ligious question,  which  bars  everything.  We  shall  never  be 
able  to  take  a  single  forward  step  unless  we  begin  by  strik- 
ing down  that  Church,  which  corrupts,  and  poisons,  and 
murders.  And,  understand  me  fully,  that  is  the  reason  why 
I  am  resolved  not  to  allow  our  Louise  to  confess  and  com- 
municate. I  should  feel  that  I  was  not  doing  my  duty, 
that  I  was  placing  myself  in  contradiction  with  all  my  prin- 
ciples and  lessons,  if  I  were  to  allow  such  things.  And  on 
the  morrow  I  should  have  to  leave  this  school  and  cease  to 
teach  the  children  of  others,  for  lack  of  having  both  the 
loyalty  and  the  strength  to  guide  my  own  child  towards 
truth,  the  only  real  and  only  good  truth.  Thus  I  shall  not 
yield  on  the  matter;  our  daughter  herself  will  come  to  a 
decision  when  she  is  twenty! ' 

Genevieve,  now  quite  beside  herself,  was  on  the  point  of 
replying,  when  Louise  came  in,  followed  by  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline,  who,  having  detained  her  after  lessons,  wished 
to  explain  that  she  had  been  teaching  her  a  difficult  crochet 
stitch.  Short  and  slight,  possessed  of  no  beauty,  but  ex- 
tremely charming  with  her  broad  face,  her  large,  loving 
mouth,  and  her  fine  black  eyes  glowing  with  ardent  sym- 
pathy, the  schoolmistress  called  from  the  threshold:  '  Why, 
have  you  no  light?  I  want  to  show  you  the  clever  work  of 
a  good  little  girl. ' 

But  Genevieve,  without  listening,  sternly  called  the  child 
to  her.  '  Ah!  so  it  *s  you,  Louise.  Come  here  a  moment. 
Your  father  is  again  torturing  me  about  you.  He  is  now 
positively  opposed  to  your  making  your  first  Communion. 
Well,  I  insist  on  your  doing  so  this  year.  You  are  twelve 
years  old,  you  can  delay  the  matter  no  longer  without  caus- 
ing a  scandal.  But  before  deciding  on  my  course,  I  wish 
to  know  what  your  own  views  are." 


302  TRUTH 

Tall  as  she  was  already,  Louise  looked  almost  a  little 
woman,  showing  a  very  intelligent  face,  in  which  her 
mother's  refined  features  seemed  to  mingle  in  an  expression 
of  quiet  good  sense,  which  she  had  inherited  from  her 
father.  With  an  air  of  affectionate  deference  she  answered: 
4  My  views!  Oh,  mamma,  I  can  have  none.  Only  I  thought 
it  was  all  settled,  as  papa's  only  desire  is  that  I  should  wait 
till  my  majority.  Then  I  will  tell  you  my  views! ' 

4  Is  that  how  you  answer  me,  unhappy  child? '  cried 
her  mother,  whose  irritation  was  increasing.  '  Wait!  still 
wait!  when  your  father's  horrible  lessons  are  evidently 
corrupting  you,  and  robbing  me  more  and  more  of  your 
heart !  ' 

At  this  moment  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  made  the  mistake 
of  intervening,  but  she  did  so  like  a  good  soul  who  was 
grieved  by  this  quarrel  in  a  home  whose  happiness  in 
former  days  had  greatly  touched  her.  '  Oh,  my  dear 
Madame  Froment!  '  she  said,  'your  Louise  is  very  fond  of 
you,  and  what  she  said  just  now  was  very  reasonable.' 

Genevieve  turned  violently  towards  the  schoolmistress: 
'Attend  to  your  own  affairs,  mademoiselle.  I  won't  inquire 
into  your  share  in  all  this;  but  you  would  do  well  to  teach 
your  pupils  to  respect  God  and  their  parents!  ...  This 
is  not  your  home,  remember! ' 

Then,  as  the  schoolmistress  withdrew,  heavy  at  heart  and 
saying  nothing  for  fear  lest  she  might  embitter  the  quarrel, 
the  mother  again  turned  to  the  girl: 

4  Listen  to  me,  Louise  .  .  .  and  you,  Marc,  listen  to 
me  also.  ...  I  have  had  enough  of  it,  I  swear  to  you 
that  I  have  had  enough  of  it,  that  what  has  occurred  this 
evening,  what  has  just  been  said,  has  filled  the  cup  to  over- 
flowing. .  .  .  You  no  longer  have  any  love  for  me,  you 
torture  me  in  my  faith,  and  you  try  to  drive  me  from  the 
house.' 

Her  daughter,  full  of  distress  and  agitation,  was  weeping 
in  a  corner  of  the  large,  dim  room,  and  the  heart  of  her 
husband,  who  stood  there  motionless,  bled  as  he  heard 
those  supreme,  rending  words.  Both  he  and  the  child 
raised  the  same  protest :  '  Drive  you  from  the  house ! ' 

4  Yes,  you  do  all  you  can  to  render  it  unbearable !  .  .  . 
Indeed,  it  is  impossible  for  me  to  remain  longer  in  a  spot 
where  all  is  scandal,  error,  and  impiety,  where  every  word 
and  every  gesture  wound  and  shock  me.  I  have  been  told 
twenty  times  that  it  was  not  a  fit  place  for  me,  and  I  will 


TRUTH  303 

not  damn  myself  with  you,  so  I  am  going  away,  returning 
whence  I  came!  ' 

She  cried  those  last  words  aloud  with  extraordinary 
vehemence. 

'  To  your  grandmother's,  eh? '  exclaimed  Marc. 

'  To  my  grandmother's,  yes!  That  is  an  asylum,  a  refuge 
full  of  sovereign  peace.  They  at  least  know  how  to  under- 
stand and  love  me  there!  I  ought  never  to  have  quitted 
that  pious  home  of  my  youth.  Good-bye!  There  is  no- 
thing here  to  detain  either  my  body  or  my  soul! ' 

She  went  towards  the  door,  with  a  fierce,  set  face,  but, 
owing  to  her  condition,  with  somewhat  unsteady  steps. 
Louise  was  still  sobbing  violently.  But  Marc,  making  a 
last  effort,  resolutely  strove  to  bar  the  way. 

'  In  my  turn,'  he  said,  '  I  beg  you  to  listen  to  me.  You 
wish  to  return  whence  you  came,  and  I  am  not  surprised 
at  it,  for  I  know  that  every  effort  has  been  made  there  to 
wrest  you  from  me.  It  is  a  house  of  mourning  and  ven- 
geance. .  .  .  But  you  are  not  alone,  remember;  there 
is  the  child  you  bear,  and  you  cannot  take  it  from  me  in 
that  way  to  hand  it  over  to  others. ' 

Genevieve  was  standing  before  her  husband,  who,  on  his 
side,  leant  against  the  door.  She  seemed  to  increase  in 
stature,  to  become  yet  more  resolute  and  stubborn  as  she 
cast  in  his  face  these  words:  '  I  am  going  away  expressly 
in  order  to  take  that  child  from  you,  and  place  it  beyond 
the  reach  of  your  abominable  influence.  I  will  not  have 
you  make  a  pagan  of  that  child  and  ruin  it  in  mind  and 
heart  as  you  have  ruined  this  unhappy  girl  here.  It  is  my 
child,  I  suppose,  and  you  surely  don't  mean  to  beat  me 
under  pretence  of  keeping  it?  Come,  get  away  from  that 
door,  and  let  me  go! ' 

He  did  not  answer,  he  was  making  a  superhuman  effort 
to  abstain  from  force,  such  as  anger  suggested.  For  a 
moment  they  looked  at  one  another  in  the  last  faint  gleam 
of  the  expiring  light. 

'Get  away  from  that  door! '  she  repeated  harshly.  '  Under- 
stand that  I  have  quite  made  up  my  mind.  You  do  not 
desire  a  scandal,  do  you?  You  would  have  nothing  to  gain 
by  it;  you  would  be  dismissed  and  prevented  from  con- 
tinuing what  you  call  your  great  work — the  teaching  of 
those  children,  whom  you  have  preferred  to  me,  and  whom 
you  will  turn  into  brigands  with  your  fine  lessons.  .  .  . 
Yes,  be  prudent,  take  care  of  yourself  for  the  sake  of  your 


304  TRUTH 

school,  a  school  of  the  damned,  and  let  me  return  to  my 
God,  who,  some  day,  will  chastise  you!  ' 

'  Ah!  my  poor  wife,'  he  murmured  in  a  faint  voice,  for 
her  words  had  wounded  him  to  the  heart.  '  Fortunately  it 
is  not  you  yourself  who  speak;  it  is  those  wretched  people 
who  are  making  use  of  you  as  a  deadly  weapon  against  me. 
I  recognise  their  words,  the  hope  of  a  drama,  the  desire  to 
see  me  dismissed,  my  school  closed,  my  work  destroyed. 
It  is  still  because  I  am  a  witness,  a  friend  of  Simon,  whose 
innocence  I  shall  soon  help  to  establish,  that  they  wish  to 
strike  me  down,  is  it  not?  And  you  are  right,  I  do  not  de- 
sire a  scandal  which  would  please  so  many  people.' 

'  Then  let  me  go, '  she  repeated  stubbornly. 

'  Yes,  by  and  by.  Before  then  I  wish  you  to  know  that  I 
still  love  you,  love  you  even  more  than  ever,  because  you 
are  a  poor  sick  child,  attacked  by  one  of  those  contagious 
fevers,  which  it  takes  so  much  time  to  cure.  But  I  do  not 
despair,  for  at  bottom  you  are  a  good  and  healthy  creature, 
sensible  and  loving  when  you  choose,  and  some  day  you 
will  awaken  from  your  nightmare.  .  .  .  Besides,  we 
have  lived  together  for  nearly  fourteen  years,  I  made  you 
wife  and  mother,  and  even  though  I  neglected  to  re-mould 
you  entirely,  the  many  things  which  have  come  to  you  from 
me  will  continue  to  assert  themselves.  .  .  .  You  will 
come  back  to  me,  Genevieve.' 

She  laughed  with  an  air  of  bravado.  '  I  do  not  think 
so,'  she  said. 

'  You  will  come  back  to  me,'  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  in- 
stinct with  conviction.  '  When  you  know  and  understand 
the  truth,  the  love  you  have  borne  me  will  do  the  rest;  and 
you  have  a  tender  heart,  you  are  not  capable  of  long  in- 
justice. ...  I  have  never  done  you  violence,  I  have 
constantly  respected  your  wishes,  and  now,  as  you  wish  it, 
go  to  your  folly,  follow  it  till  it  is  exhausted,  as  there  is  no 
other  means  of  curing  you  of  it. ' 

He  drew  aside  from  the  door  to  make  way  for  her,  and 
she  for  a  moment  seemed  to  hesitate  amid  the  quivering 
gloom  which  was  enshrouding  that  dear  and  grief-stricken 
home.  It  had  become  so  dark  that  Marc  could  no  longer 
see  her  face,  which  had  contracted  while  she  listened  to 
him.  But  all  at  once  she  made  up  her  mind,  exclaiming  in 
a  choking  voice:  'Good-bye!' 

Then  Louise,  lost  amid  the  darkness,  sprang  forward  in 
her  turn,  wishing  to  prevent  her  mother's  departure:  '  Oh! 


TRUTH  305 

mamma,  mamma,  you  cannot  go  away  like  this!  We,  who 
love  you  so  well — we,  who  only  want  you  to  be  happy ' 

But  the  door  had  closed,  and  the  only  response  was  a  last, 
distant  cry,  half  stifled  by  a  sound  of  rapid  footsteps: 
'  Good-bye!  good-bye!  ' 

Then,  sobbing  and  staggering,  Louise  fell  into  her  father's 
arms;  and,  sinking  together  upon  one  of  the  forms  of  the 
classroom,  they  long  remained  there,  weeping  together. 
Night  had  completely  fallen  now,  nothing  but  the  faint 
sound  of  their  sobs  was  to  be  heard  in  the  large  dark  room. 
The  deep  silence  of  abandonment  and  mourning  filled  the 
empty  house.  The  wife,  the  mother,  had  gone,  stolen  from 
the  husband  and  the  child,  in  order  that  they  might  be  tor- 
tured, cast  into  despair.  Before  Marc's  tearful  eyes  there 
rose  the  whole  machination,  the  hypocritical,  underhand 
efforts  of  years,  which  now  wrenched  from  him  the  wife 
whom  he  adored,  in  order  to  weaken  him  and  goad  him 
into  some  sudden  rebellion  which  would  sweep  both  his 
work  and  himself  away.  His  heart  bled,  but  he  had  found 
the  strength  to  accept  his  torture,  and  none  would  ever 
know  his  distress,  for  none  could  see  him  sobbing  with  his 
daughter  in  the  darkness  of  his  deserted  home,  like  a  poor 
man  who  had  nought  left  him  save  that  child,  and  who 
was  seized  with  terror  at  the  thought  that  she  likewise  might 
be  wrested  from  him,  some  day. 

A  little  later  that  same  evening,  as  Marc  had  to  conduct 
a  course  of  evening  lessons  for  adults,  the  four  gas  jets  of 
the  classroom  were  lighted,  and  students  flocked  in.  Several 
of  his  former  pupils,  artisans  and  young  men  of  modest 
commercial  pursuits,  assiduously  followed  these  courses  of 
history,  geography,  physical  and  natural  science.  And  for 
an  hour  and  a  half  Marc,  installed  at  his  desk,  spoke  on 
very  clearly,  contending  with  error  and  conveying  a  little 
truth  to  the  minds  of  the  humble.  But  all  the  time  fright- 
ful grief  was  consuming  him,  his  home  was  pillaged,  de- 
stroyed, his  love  bewailed  the  lost  wife  whom  he  would  find 
no  longer  overhead,  in  the  room  once  warm  with  tender 
love,  and  now  so  cold. 

Nevertheless,  like  the  obscure  hero  he  was,  he  bravely 
pursued  his  work. 


BOOK  III 


DIRECTLY  the  Court  of  Cassation  started  on  its  in- 
quiry, David  and  Marc,  meeting  one  evening  in  the 
Lehmanns'  dark  little  shop,  decided  that  it  would 
be  best  to  abstain  from  all  agitation,  and  remain  in  the 
background.  Now  that  the  idea  of  a  revision  of  the  case  was 
accepted,  the  family's  great  joy  and  hope  had  restored  its 
courage.  If  the  inquiry  should  be  loyally  conducted  by  the 
Court,  Simon's  innocence  would  surely  be  recognised,  and 
acquittal  would  become  certain.  So  it  would  suffice  to  re- 
main wakeful  and  watchful  of  the  march  of  the  affair,  with- 
out exhibiting  any  doubt  of  the  conscientiousness  and  equity 
of  the  highest  judges  in  the  land. 

There  was  only  one  thing  which  prevented  the  joy  of  those 
poor  people  from  becoming  perfect.  The  news  of  Simon's 
health  was  still  far  from  good;  and  might  he  not  succumb 
over  yonder  before  the  triumph  ?  The  Court  had  declared 
that  there  were  no  grounds  for  bringing  him  back  to  France 
before  its  final  judgment,  and  it  seemed  likely  that  the  in- 
quiry might  last  several  months.  In  spite  of  all  this,  how- 
ever, David  remained  full  of  superb  confidence,  relying  on 
the  wonderful  strength  of  resistance  which  his  brother  had 
hitherto  displayed.  He  knew  him,  and  he  tranquillised  the 
others,  even  made  them  laugh,  by  telling  stories  of  Simon's 
youth,  anecdotes  which  showed  him  retiring  within  himself 
with  singular  force  of  will,  thoughtful  both  of  his  dignity 
and  of  the  happiness  of  those  near  to  him.  So  the  inter- 
view between  Marc,  David,  and  the  Lehmanns  ended,  and 
they  separated,  resolved  to  show  neither  anxiety  nor  im- 
patience, but  to  behave  as  if  the  victory  were  already  won. 
From  that  time,  then,  Marc  shut  himself  up  in  his  school, 
attending  to  his  pupils  from  morn  till  night,  giving  himself 
to  them  with  an  abnegation,  a  devotion,  which  seemed  to 
increase  in  the  midst  of  obstacles  and  suffering.  While  he 

306 


TRUTH  307 

was  busy  with  them  in  the  classroom,  while  he  acted  as 
their  big  brother,  striving  to  apportion  the  bread  of  know- 
ledge among  them,  he  forgot  some  of  his  torture,  he  suffered 
less  from  the  ever-bleeding  wound  in  his  heart.  But  in  the 
evenings,  when  he  found  himself  alone  in  the  home  whence 
love  had  fled,  he  relapsed  into  frightful  despair,  and  won- 
dered how  it  would  be  possible  for  him  to  continue  living 
in  dark  and  chilly  widowerhood.  Some  little  relief  came  to 
him  on  the  return  of  Louise  from  Mademoiselle  Mazeline's; 
and  yet,  when  the  lamp  had  been  lighted  for  the  evening 
meal,  what  long  spells  of  silence  fell  between  the  father  and 
the  daughter,  each  plunged  into  inconsolable  wretchedness 
by  the  departure  of  the  wife,  the  mother,  whose  desertion 
haunted  them!  They  tried  to  escape  from  their  pursuing 
thoughts  by  talking  of  the  petty  incidents  of  the  day.  But 
everything  brought  them  back  to  her;  they  ended  by  talk- 
ing of  her  alone,  drawing  their  chairs  together,  and  taking 
each  other's  hands,  as  if  to  warm  each  other  in  their  soli- 
tude. And  all  their  evenings  ended  in  that  fashion,  the 
daughter  seated  on  her  father's  lap  with  one  arm  around  his 
neck,  and  both  sobbing  and  quivering  beside  the  smoky 
lamp.  The  home  was  dead;  the  absent  one  had  carried 
away  its  life,  its  warmth,  its  light. 

Yet  Marc  did  nothing  to  compel  Genevieve  to  return  to 
him.  Indeed,  he  did  not  wish  to  be  indebted  in  any  way 
to  such  rights  as  it  might  be  possible  for  him  to  enforce. 
The  idea  of  a  scandal,  a  public  dispute,  was  odious  to  him; 
and  not  only  had  he  resolved  that  he  would  not  fall  into  the 
trap  set  by  those  who  had  induced  Genevieve  to  forsake 
him,  relying  in  this  connection  on  some  conjugal  drama 
which  would  bring  about  his  revocation,  but  he  also  set  all 
his  hope  in  the  sole  force  of  love.  Genevieve  would  surely 
reflect  and  return  home.  In  particular,  it  seemed  impos- 
sible that  she  would  keep  her  expected  child  for  herself 
alone.  As  soon  as  possible  after  its  birth  she  would  bring 
it  to  him,  since  it  belonged  to  both  of  them.  Even  if  the 
Church  had  succeeded  in  perverting  her  as  a  loving  woman, 
surely  it  would  be  unable  to  kill  her  motherly  feelings. 
And  as  a  mother  she  would  come  back,  and  remain  with  the 
child.  The  latter's  birth  was  near  at  hand,  so  there  would 
not  be  more  than  a  month  to  wait. 

By  degrees,  after  hoping  for  this  denouement,  by  way  of 
consoling  himself,  Marc  began  to  regard  it  as  a  certainty. 
And,  like  a  good  fellow,  who  did  not  wish  to  part  mother 


3O8  TRUTH 

and  daughter,  he  sent  Louise  to  spend  Thursday  and  Sun- 
day afternoons  with  Genevieve  at  Madame  Duparque's, 
although  that  dark,  dank,  pious  house  had  already  brought 
him  so  much  suffering.  Perhaps  he  unknowingly  found 
some  last,  melancholy  satisfaction  in  this  indirect  inter- 
course, as  well  as  a  means  of  maintaining  a  tie  between 
himself  and  the  absent  one.  Whenever  Louise  came  home 
after  spending  several  hours  with  her  mother,  she  brought 
a  little  of  Genevieve  with  her;  and  on  those  evenings  her 
father  kept  her  longer  than  usual  on  his  knees,  and  ques- 
tioned her  eagerly,  longing  for  tidings,  even  though  they 
might  make  him  suffer. 

'  How  did  you  find  her  to-day,  my  dear  ? '  he  would  ask. 
'  Does  she  laugh  a  little  ?  Does  she  seem  pleased  ?  Did 
she  play  with  you  ? ' 

'  No,  no,  father.  .  .  .  You  know  very  well  that  she 
has  long  ceased  to  play.  But  she  still  had  a  little  gaiety 
when  she  was  here,  and  now  she  looks  sad  and  ill.' 

'111!' 

'  Oh !  not  ill  enough  to  remain  in  bed.  On  the  contrary, 
she  cannot  keep  from  moving  about,  and  her  hands  are 
burning  hot,  as  if  she  had  the  fever. ' 

'  And  what  did  you  do,  my  dear  ?  ' 

'  We  went  to  Vespers,  as  we  do  every  Sunday.  Then  we 
returned  to  grandmamma's  for  some  refreshment.  There 
was  a  monk  there,  whom  I  did  not  know,  some  missionary, 
who  told  us  stories  of  savages. ' 

Then  Marc  remained  silent  for  a  moment,  full  of  great 
bitterness  of  spirit,  but  unwilling  to  judge  the  mother  in  the 
daughter's  presence,  or  to  give  the  latter  an  order  to  dis- 
obey her  by  refusing  to  accompany  her  to  church.  At  last 
he  resumed  gently:  'And  did  she  speak  to  you  of  me,  my 
dear  ? ' 

'  No,  no,  father.  .  .  .  Nobody  there  speaks  to  me 
of  you,  and  as  you  told  me  never  to  speak  first  about  you, 
it  is  just  as  if  you  did  not  exist.' 

'  All  the  same,  grandmother  is  not  angry  with  you  ? ' 

'  Grandmamma  Duparque  hardly  looks  at  me,  and  I  prefer 
that;  for  she  has  such  eyes  that  she  frightens  me  when  she 
scolds.  .  .  .  But  Grandmamma  Berthereau  is  very  kind, 
especially  when  there  is  nobody  there  to  see  her.  She  gives 
me  sweets,  and  takes  me  in  her  arms  and  kisses  me  ever  so 
much. ' 

'  Grandmamma  Berthereau ! ' 


TRUTH  309 

'  Why,  yes.  One  day  even  she  told  me  that  I  ought  to 
love  you  very  much.  She  is  the  only  one  who  has  ever 
spoken  to  me  of  you.' 

Marc  again  relapsed  into  silence,  for  he  did  not  wish  his 
daughter  to  be  initiated  too  soon  into  the  wretchedness  of 
life.  He  had  always  suspected  that  the  doleful,  silent 
Madame  Berthereau,  once  so  well  loved  by  her  husband, 
now  led  a  life  of  agony  beneath  the  bigoted  rule  of  her 
mother,  that  harsh  Madame  Duparque.  And  he  felt  that 
he  might  possibly  have  an  ally  in  the  younger  woman, 
though,  unfortunately,  one  whose  spirit  was  so  broken  that 
she  might  never  find  the  courage  to  speak  or  act. 

'  You  must  be  very  affectionate  with  Grandmamma  Ber- 
thereau,' said  Marc  to  Louise,  by  way  of  conclusion. 
'  Though  she  may  not  say  it,  I  think  she  is  grieved  as  we 
are.  .  .  .  And  mind  you  kiss  your  mother  for  both  of 
us,  she  will  feel  that  I  have  joined  in  your  caress.' 

'  Yes,  father. ' 

Thus  did  the  long  evening  pass  away,  bitter  but  quiet,  in 
the  wrecked  home.  Whenever,  on  a  Sunday,  the  daughter 
returned  with  some  bad  tidings — speaking,  for  instance,  of 
a  sick  headache  or  some  affection  of  the  nerves  from  which 
the  mother  now  suffered — the  father  remained  full  of  anxiety 
until  the  ensuing  Thursday.  That  nervous  affection  did 
not  surprise  him,  he  trembled  lest  his  poor  wife  should  be 
consumed  in  the  perverse  and  imbecile  flames  of  mysticism. 
But  if  on  the  following  Thursday  his  daughter  told  him  that 
mamma  had  smiled,  and  inquired  about  the  little  cat  she  had 
left  at  home,  he  revived  to  hope,  and  laughed  with  satisfac- 
tion and  relief.  Then,  once  again,  he  composed  himself  to 
await  the  return  of  the  dear  absent  one,  who  would  surely 
come  back  with  her  new-born  babe  at  her  breast. 

Since  Genevieve's  departure  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  by 
the  force  of  things,  had  become  a  confidente,  an  intimate  for 
Marc  and  Louise.  She  brought  the  child  home  almost 
every  evening,  after  lessons,  and  rendered  little  services  in 
that  disorganised  home  where  there  was  no  longer  any 
housewife.  The  dwellings  of  the  schoolmaster  and  the 
schoolmistress  almost  touched  one  another;  there  was  only 
a  little  yard  to  be  crossed,  while  in  the  rear  a  gate  facilitated 
communication  between  the  two  gardens.  Thus  the  inter- 
course became  closer,  particularly  as  Marc  felt  great  sym- 
pathy for  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  whom  he  regarded  as  a 
most  courageous  and  excellent  woman.  He  had  learnt  to 


310  TRUTH 

esteem  her  at  Jonville  in  former  times  on  finding  that  she 
was  quite  free  from  superstition,  and  strove  to  endow  her 
pupils  with  solid  minds  and  loving  hearts.  And  now  at 
Maillebois  he  felt  intense  friendship  for  her,  so  well  did  she 
realise  his  ideal  of  the  educating,  initiating  woman,  the  only 
one  capable  of  liberating  future  society.  Marc  was  now 
thoroughly  convinced  that  no  serious  progress  would  ever 
be  effected  if  woman  did  not  accompany  man,  and  even 
precede  him,  on  the  road  to  the  Happy  City.  And  how 
comforting  it  was  to  meet  at  least  one  of  those  pioneers,  one 
who  was  both  very  intelligent  and  very  kind-hearted,  all 
simplicity  too,  accomplishing  her  work  of  salvation  as  if  it 
were  one  of  the  natural  functions  of  her  being!  Thus 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline  became  for  Marc,  amid  his  torture, 
a  friend  prized  for  her  serenity  and  gaiety,  one  who  im- 
parted consolation  and  hope. 

He  was  profoundly  touched  by  the  schoolmistress's  sym- 
pathy and  obligingness.  She  frequently  spoke  of  Genevieve 
with  anxious  affection,  devising  excuses  for  her,  explaining 
her  case  like  a  sensible  woman  who  regarded  lack  of  sense 
in  others  with  sympathetic  compassion.  And  she  particu- 
larly begged  of  Marc  that  he  would  not  be  violent,  that  he 
would  not  behave  like  an  egotistical  and  jealous  master,  one 
of  those  for  whom  a  wife  is  a  slave,  a  thing  handed  over  to 
them  by  the  laws.  Without  doubt  Mademoiselle  Mazeline 
had  much  to  do  with  the  prudence  which  Marc  evinced  in 
striving  to  remain  patient  and  relying  on  sense  and  love  to 
convince  Genevieve  and  bring  her  back  to  him.  Finally, 
the  schoolmistress  endeavoured  with  so  much  delicacy  to  re- 
place the  absent  mother  with  Louise  that  she  became,  as  it 
were,  the  light  of  that  mournful  home,  where  father  and 
daughter  shivered  at  the  thought  of  their  abandonment. 

During  those  first  fine  days  of  the  year  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline  frequently  found  herself  of  an  evening  with  Marc 
and  Louise  in  their  little  garden  behind  the  school.  The 
schoolmistress  had  merely  to  open  the  gate  of  communica- 
tion, whose  bolts  were  drawn  back  on  either  side,  and 
neighbourly  intercourse  followed.  Indeed  she  somewhat 
neglected  her  own  garden  for  the  schoolmaster's,  where  a 
table  and  a  few  chairs  were  set  out  under  some  lilac  bushes. 
They  jestingly  called  this  spot  '  the  wood,'  as  if  they  had 
sought  shelter  under  some  large  oaks  on  a  patch  of  forest 
land.  Then  the  scanty  lawn  was  likened  to  a  great 
meadow,  the  two  flower  borders  became  royal  parterres  j 


TRUTH  311 

and  after  the  day's  hard  work  it  was  pleasant  indeed  to  chat 
there,  amid  the  quietude  of  twilight. 

One  evening,  Louise,  who  had  been  reflecting  with  all  a 
big  girl's  gravity,  suddenly  inquired:  'Mademoiselle,  why 
have  you  never  married  ? ' 

At  this  the  schoolmistress  laughed  good  naturedly.  'Oh, 
my  darling,  have  you  never  looked  at  me! '  she  answered. 
'A  husband  is  not  easily  found  when  one  has  such  a  big  nose 
as  mine,  and  no  figure.' 

The  girl  looked  at  her  mistress  with  astonishment,  for 
never  had  she  thought  her  ugly.  True  enough,  Mademoi- 
selle Mazeline  did  not  possess  a  fine  figure,  and  her  nose 
was  too  large,  her  face  a  broad  one,  with  a  bumpy  forehead 
and  projecting  cheek  bones.  But  her  admirable  eyes  smiled 
so  tenderly  that  her  whole  countenance  became  resplendent 
with  charm. 

'  You  are  very  pretty, '  declared  Louise  in  a  tone  of  con- 
viction. '  If  I  were  a  man  I  should  like  to  marry  you.' 

Marc  felt  very  much  amused,  while  Mademoiselle  Maze- 
line  gave  signs  of  restrained  emotion,  tinged  somewhat  with 
melancholy.  '  It  would  seem  that  the  men  have  n't  the  same 
taste  as  you,  my  dear,'  said  she,  as  she  recovered  her  quiet 
gaiety.  '  When  I  was  between  twenty  and  twenty-five  I 
would  willingly  have  married,  but  I  met  nobody  who  wished 
for  me.  And  I  should  not  think  of  marrying  now,  when  I 
am  six  and  thirty.' 

'  Why  not  ? '  Marc  inquired. 

4  Oh !  because  the  time  has  passed.  .  .  .  An  humble 
elementary  teacher,  born  of  poor  parents,  hardly  tempts  the 
marrying  men.  Where  can  one  be  found  willing  to  burden 
himself  with  a  wife  who  earns  little,  who  is  tied  to  heavy 
duties,  and  compelled  to  live  in  the  depths  of  some  out  of 
the  way  region  ?  If  she  is  not  lucky  enough  to  marry  a 
schoolmaster,  and  share  her  poverty  with  his,  she  inevitably 
becomes  an  old  maid.  ...  I  long  since  gave  up  all 
idea  of  marriage,  and  I  am  happy  all  the  same.' 

But  she  quickly  added:  'Of  course  marriage  is  necessary; 
a  woman  ought  to  marry,  for  she  does  not  live,  she  does  not 
fulfil  her  natural  destiny,  unless  she  becomes  wife  and 
mother.  No  real  health  or  happiness  exists  for  any  human 
creature  apart  from  his  or  her  complete  florescence.  And 
in  teaching  my  girls  I  never  forget  that  they  are  destined  to 
have  husbands  and  children  some  day.  .  .  .  Only, 
when  one  is  forgotten,  sacrificed  as  it  were,  one  has  to 


312  TRUTH 

arrange  for  oneself  some  little  corner  of  content.  Thus,  I 
have  cut  out  for  myself  my  share  of  work,  and  I  don't  com- 
plain so  much,  for,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  have  succeeded 
in  becoming  a  mother.  All  the  children  of  others,  all  the 
dear  little  girls  with  whom  I  busy  myself  from  morning  till 
evening,  belong  to  me.  I  am  not  alone,  I  have  a  very  large 
family. ' 

She  laughed  as  she  thus  referred  to  her  admirable  devo- 
tion in  the  simple  way  of  one  who  seemed  to  feel  that  she 
was  under  obligations  to  all  the  pupils  who  consented  to 
become  the  children  of  her  mind  and  heart. 

'  Yes,'  said  Marc  by  way  of  conclusion,  '  when  life  shows 
itself  harsh  to  any  of  us  the  disinherited  one  must  behave 
kindly  to  life.  That  is  the  only  way  to  prevent  misfortune.' 

On  most  occasions  when  Marc  and  Mademoiselle  Mazeline 
met  in  the  little  garden,  over  which  the  twilight  stole,  their 
talk  was  of  Genevieve.  This  was  particularly  the  case  on 
those  evenings  when  Louise,  after  spending  the  afternoon 
at  Madame  Duparque's,  returned  with  news  of  her  mother. 
One  day  she  came  back  in  a  state  of  much  emotion,  for  her 
mother,  whom  she  had  accompanied  to  the  Capuchin  Chapel 
to  witness  some  great  ceremony  in  honour  of  St.  Antony  of 
Padua,  had  fainted  away  there,  and  had  been  carried  to 
Madame  Duparque's  in  a  disquieting  condition. 

'  They  will  end  by  killing  her!  '  cried  Marc  despairingly. 

But  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  wishing  to  comfort  him, 
evinced  stubborn  optimism. 

'  No,  no,  when  all  is  said  your  Genevieve  has  only  an  ail- 
ing mind,  she  is  physically  healthy  and  strong.  Some  day, 
you  '11  see,  my  friend,  her  intelligence,  helped  by  her  heart, 
will  win  the  victory.  .  .  .  And  what  could  you  expect  ? 
She  is  paying  for  her  mystical  education  and  training  in  one 
of  those  convents  whence,  as  long  as  they  remain  unclosed, 
the  evils  which  assail  women,  and  the  disasters  of  married 
life,  will  always  come.  You  must  forgive  her,  she  is  not  the 
real  culprit.  She  suffers  from  the  long  heredity  bequeathed 
to  her  by  her  forerunners,  possessed,  terrorised,  and  stupe- 
fied by  the  Church.' 

Overcome  by  sadness,  Marc,  though  his  daughter  was 
present,  could  not  restrain  a  low  plaint,  a  spontaneous 
avowal:  'Ah,  for  her  sake  and  mine  it  would  have  been 
better  if  we  had  never  married !  She  could  not  become  my 
helpmate,  my  other  self! ' 

'  But  whom  would  you  have  married,  then  ? '  the  school- 


TRUTH  313 

mistress  inquired.  '  Where  would  you  have  found  a  girl  of 
the  middle  class  who  had  not  been  brought  up  under 
Catholic  rule,  possessed  with  error  and  falsehoods?  The 
wife  you  needed,  my  poor  friend,  with  your  free  mind — an 
artisan  of  the  future  as  you  are — still  remains  to  be  created. 
Perhaps  just  a  few  specimens  exist,  but  even  they  are  tainted 
by  atavism  and  faulty  education.' 

Then,  with  a  laugh,  she  added  in  her  gentle  yet  resolute 
way :  '  But  you  know  that  I  am  trying  to  form  such  com- 
panions as  may  be  needed  by  the  men  who  have  freed 
themselves  from  dogmas,  and  who  thirst  for  truth  and 
equity.  Yes,  I  am  trying  to  provide  wives  for  the  young 
fellows  whom  you,  on  your  side,  are  training.  ...  As 
for  yourself,  my  friend,  you  were  merely  born  too  soon. ' 

Thus  conversing,  the  schoolmaster  and  the  schoolmistress, 
those  humble  pioneers  of  the  future  social  system,  forgot  in 
some  measure  the  presence  of  the  big  girl  of  thirteen  who 
listened  to  them  in  silence,  but  with  her  ears  wide  open. 
Marc  had  discreetly  refrained  from  giving  any  direct  lessons 
to  his  daughter.  He  contented  himself  with  setting  her  an 
example,  and  she  loved  him  dearly  because  he  showed  so 
much  goodness  of  heart,  sincerity,  and  equity.  The  mind 
of  that  big  girl  was  slowly  awakening  to  reason,  but  she  did 
not  dare  to  intervene  as  yet  in  the  conversation  of  her 
father  and  mademoiselle;  though  assuredly  she  derived 
profit  from  it,  even  if,  like  other  children,  when  their  elders 
forget  themselves  so  far  as  to  speak  before  them  of  things 
regarded  as  being  above  their  intelligence,  she  appeared 
neither  to  hear  nor  to  understand.  With  her  glance  wan- 
dering away  into  the  falling  night,  her  lips  scarcely  stirred 
by  a  faint  quiver,  she  was  always  learning,  classifying  in  her 
little  head  all  the  ideas  that  emanated  from  those  two  per- 
sons whom,  with  her  mother,  were  the  ones  she  loved  best 
in  the  world.  And  one  day,  after  a  conversation  of  the 
kind,  a  remark,  which  escaped  her  as  she  emerged  from  one 
of  her  deep  reveries,  showed  that  she  had  perfectly  under- 
stood. 

'  When  I  marry,'  said  she,  '  I  shall  want  a  husband  whose 
ideas  are  like  papa's,  so  that  we  may  discuss  things  and 
come  to  an  agreement.  And  if  we  both  think  alike,  it  will 
all  go  well.1 

This  manner  of  resolving  the  problem  greatly  amused 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline.  Marc  on  his  side  was  moved,  for 
he  felt  that  some  of  his  own  passion  for  truth,  his  clear  firm 


314  TRUTH 

mind,  was  appearing  in  his  daughter.  Doubtless,  while  a 
child's  brain  is  yet  dimly  developing,  it  is  difficult  to  fore- 
tell what  will  be  the  woman's  mature  intellect.  Yet  Marc 
thought  he  had  grounds  for  believing  that  Louise  would 
prove  sensible  and  healthy,  free  from  many  errors.  And 
this  probability  was  very  sweet  to  him,  as  if  indeed  he 
awaited  from  his  daughter  the  help,  the  loving  mediation, 
which  by  bringing  the  absent  one  back  to  the  home  would 
re-establish  all  the  ties  so  tragically  severed. 

However,  the  news  which  Louise  brought  from  the  Place 
des  Capucins  grew  worse  and  worse.  As  the  time  for  her 
child's  birth  drew  near,  Genevieve  became  more  and  more 
gloomy,  more  and  more  capricious  and  bad  tempered,  in 
such  wise  that  at  times  she  even  rejected  her  daughter's 
caresses.  She  had  had  several  more  fainting  fits,  and  was 
giving  way,  it  seemed,  to  increasing  religious  exaltation, 
after  the  fashion  of  those  patients  who,  disappointed  by  the 
inefficacy  of  certain  drugs,  double  and  double  the  dose  until 
at  last  they  poison  themselves.  Thus,  one  delightful  even- 
ing, while  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  sat  with  the  others  in 
the  flowery  garden,  the  news  which  Louise  communicated 
rendered  the  schoolmistress  so  anxious  that  she  made  a 
proposal  to  Marc. 

'  Shall  I  go  to  see  your  wife,  my  friend  ? '  she  asked.  'She 
showed  some  affection  for  me  in  former  times,  and  perhaps 
she  might  listen  to  me  if  I  were  to  talk  sense  to  her.' 

'  But  what  would  you  say  to  her  ? '  Marc  replied. 

'  Why,  that  her  place  is  beside  you,  that  she  still  loves 
you  though  she  knows  it  not;  that  her  sufferings  are  all 
due  to  a  frightful  misunderstanding;  and  that  she  will  only 
be  cured  when  she  returns  to  you  with  that  dear  child,  the 
thought  of  whom  is  stifling  her  like  remorse. ' 

Tears  had  risen  to  the  eyes  of  Marc,  who  felt  quite  upset 
by  the  schoolmistress's  words.  But  Louise  quickly  inter- 
vened: '  Oh,  no,  mademoiselle,'  she  said,  '  don't  go  to  see 
mamma;  I  advise  you  not  to.' 

'  Why  not,  my  darling  ? ' 

The  girl  blushed,  and  became  greatly  embarrassed.  She 
knew  not  how  to  explain  in  what  contemptuous  and  hateful 
terms  the  schoolmistress  was  spoken  of  at  the  little  house  on 
the  Place  des  Capucins.  But  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  under- 
stood, and,  like  a  woman  accustomed  to  misrepresentation, 
she  gently  asked :  '  Does  your  mamma  no  longer  like  me, 
then  ?  Do  you  fear  she  might  receive  me  badly  ?  ' 


TRUTH  315 

'  Oh!  mamma  does  not  say  much,'  Louise  ended  by  con- 
fessing; '  it  is  the  others.' 

Then  Marc,  overcoming  his  emotion,  resumed,  '  The 
child  is  right,  my  friend.  Your  visit  might  become  painful, 
and  it  would  probably  have  no  effect.  None  the  less,  I 
thank  you  for  your  kindness;  I  know  how  warm  your 
heart  is.' 

A  long  spell  of  silence  ensued.  The  sky  overhead  was 
beautifully  clear,  and  quietude  descended  from  the  vast 
vault  of  azure,  where  the  sun  was  expiring  in  a  roseate 
flush.  A  few  carnations,  a  few  wallflowers,  in  the  little 
garden  borders  perfumed  the  mild  air.  And  nothing  more 
was  said  that  evening  by  Marc  and  his  friend  as  they  lin- 
gered, steeped  in  melancholy,  amid  the  delightful  close  of  a 
fine  day. 

The  inevitable  had  duly  come  to  pass.  A  week  had  not 
elapsed  after  Genevieve's  departure  from  her  home  before 
all  Maillebois  was  talking  of  a  scandalous  intrigue  carried 
on  publicly  by  the  schoolmaster  and  the  schoolmistress.  In 
the  daytime,  it  was  said,  they  constantly  left  their  class- 
rooms to  join  one  another,  and  they  spent  their  evenings 
together  in  the  garden  of  the  boys'  school,  where  they  could 
be  plainly  distinguished  from  certain  neighbouring  windows. 
And  the  abominable  thing  was  the  constant  presence  of 
little  Louise,  who  mingled  with  it  all.  The  vilest  reports 
speedily  began  to  circulate.  Passers-by  pretended  that  they 
had  heard  Marc  and  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  singing,  and 
laughing  over,  filthy  songs.  Then  a  legend  sprang  up,  it 
being  plainly  established  that  if  Genevieve  had  quitted  her 
home  it  was  in  a  spirit  of  legitimate  revolt  and  disgust,  and 
in  order  to  avoid  association  with  that  other  woman,  that 
godless  creature  who  depraved  the  little  girls  confided  to 
her  care.  Thus  there  was  not  merely  a  question  of  restor- 
ing Louise  to  her  mother;  in  order  to  save  the  children  of 
Maillebois  from  perdition,  the  schoolmaster  and  the  school- 
mistress must  be  stoned  and  driven  away. 

Some  of  these  rumours  reached  Marc's  ears;  but  he,  real- 
ising by  their  imbecile  violence  whence  they  emanated, 
merely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  As  the  Congregations  had 
not  managed  to  secure  a  scandal  in  connection  with  Gene- 
vieve's departure,  they  were  resuming  their  underhand 
work  of  slander,  striving  to  embitter  the  new  state  of  things. 
They  had  failed  to  bring  about  Marc's  revocation  by 
taking  his  wife  from  him,  but  perhaps  they  might  succeed  by 


316  TRUTH 

accusing  him  of  keeping  a  mistress.  Moreover,  this  would 
cast  a  slur  on  the  secular  schools,  and  was  dirty  work  well 
suited  to  clerics  who  do  not  shrink  from  any  lies  to  ensure 
the  triumph  of  religion.  Since  the  revival  of  the  Simon 
case,  Father  Crabot,  no  doubt,  had  been  leading  a  cloistered 
life,  and,  besides,  he  seemed  to  occupy  too  high  a  position 
to  stoop  to  such  abominable  inventions ;  but  all  the  cassocks 
and  frocks  of  Maillebois  were  astir,  Brothers  and  Capuchins 
ever  winging  their  flight,  like  a  covey  of  black  gowns,  over 
the  road  to  Valmarie.  They  returned,  looking  very  busy; 
and  then,  in  all  the  confessional  boxes  of  the  region,  in 
quiet  corners  of  the  chapels,  and  in  the  parlours  of  the  con- 
vents, came  endless  whispering  with  excited  female  devotees, 
who  grew  terribly  indignant  at  all  the  horrors  they  heard. 
Thence  those  horrors  spread  in  undertones  and  hints  to 
families,  tradespeople,  and  dependents.  Yet  if  Marc  felt 
angry,  it  was  only  at  the  thought  that  ignoble  tales  were 
surely  being  whispered  to  Genevieve  herself,  in  order  to 
make  their  separation  irrevocable. 

A  month  elapsed,  and  it  seemed  to  Marc  that  the  birth  of 
the  expected  child  must  be  imminent.  After  counting  the 
days  with  feverish  longing  he  felt  astonished  at  receiving  no 
news,  when  one  Thursday  morning  Pelagic  presented  her- 
self at  the  school  and  drily  requested  that  Mademoiselle 
Louise  might  not  be  sent  to  see  her  mamma  that  afternoon. 
Then,  as  Marc,  recognising  her  voice,  hastened  to  the  door 
and  demanded  an  explanation,  the  servant  ended  by  inform- 
ing him  that  Madame's  accouchement  had  taken  place  on 
the  Monday  evening,  and  that  she  was  not  at  all  in  a  favour- 
able state  of  health.  That  said,  Pe"lagie  took  to  her  heels, 
feeling  worried  that  she  had  spoken,  for  she  had  been  told 
to  say  nothing.  Marc,  on  his  side,  remained  confounded. 
What!  his  wife's  relations  acted  as  if  he  did  not  exist.  A 
child  was  born  to  him,  and  nobody  informed  him  of  it! 
And  such  rebellion,  such  a  need  of  protest,  arose  within 
him  that  he  at  once  put  on  his  hat  and  repaired  to  the 
ladies'  house. 

When  Pelagic  opened  the  door  she  almost  choked,  thun- 
derstruck, as  she  was,  by  his  audacity.  But  with  a  wave  of 
the  arm  he  brushed  her  aside,  and  without  a  word  walked 
into  the  little  drawing-room  where,  according  to  their  wont, 
Madame  Duparque  was  knitting  beside  the  window,  while 
Madame  Berthereau,  seated  a  little  in  the  rear,  slowly  con- 
tinued some  embroidery.  The  little  room,  which  smelt  as 


TRUTH  317 

usual  of  dampness  and  mouldiness,  seemed  to  be  slumber- 
ing amid  the  deep  silence  and  the  dismal  light  coming  from 
the  square. 

But  the  grandmother,  amazed  and  indignant  at  the  sight 
of  Marc,  sprang  abruptly  to  her  feet:  '  What!  you  take  such 
a  liberty  as  this,  sir !  What  do  you  want  ?  Why  have  you 
come  here  ? '  she  cried. 

The  incredible  violence  of  this  greeting,  when  Marc  him- 
self was  swayed  by  such  legitimate  anger,  restored  his  calm- 
ness. 

'  I  have  come  to  see  my  child,'  he  answered;  '  why  was  I 
not  warned  ? ' 

The  old  lady,  who  had  remained  rigidly  erect,  seemed  to 
understand  on  her  side  also  that  passion  might  place  her  in 
a  position  of  inferiority. 

'  I  had  no  reason  to  warn  you,'  she  replied;  'I  was  waiting 
for  Genevieve  to  request  me  to  do  so.' 

'  And  she  did  not  ask  you  ? ' 

'No.' 

All  at  once  Marc  fancied  that  he  understood  the  position. 
In  the  person  of  his  wife  the  Church  had  not  only  striven  to 
kill  the  loving  woman,  it  had  wished  to  kill  the  mother  also. 
If  Genevieve,  on  the  eve  of  her  delivery,  had  not  returned 
to  him  in  accordance  with  his  hopes,  if  she  had  hidden 
herself  away  as  if  she  were  ashamed,  the  reason  must  be 
that  her  child  had  been  imputed  to  her  as  a  crime.  In 
order  to  keep  her  in  that  house  they  must  have  filled  her 
mind  with  fear  and  horror,  as  if  she  were  guilty  of  some  sin, 
for  which  she  would  never  obtain  absolution  unless  she 
severed  every  tie  that  had  united  her  to  Satan. 

'  Is  the  baby  a  boy  ? '  Marc  asked. 

'  Yes,  a  boy.' 

'  Where  is  he  ?     I  wish  to  see  and  kiss  him.' 

4  He  is  no  longer  here.' 

'  No  longer  here!  ' 

'  No,  he  was  baptised  yesterday  under  the  name  of  the 
blessed  Saint  Clement,  and  has  gone  away  to  be  nursed.' 

'  But  that  is  a  crime !  '  Marc  cried,  with  a  pang  of  grief. 
'  It  is  not  right  to  baptise  a  child  without  its  father's  con- 
sent, or  to  send  it  away,  abduct  it  in  that  fashion!  What! 
Genevieve,  Genevieve,  who  nursed  Louise  with  such 
motherly  delight,  is  not  to  nurse  her  little  Clement! ' 

Madame  Duparque,  still  fully  retaining  her  composure, 
gave  a  little  grunt  of  satisfaction,  pleased  as  she  was  in  her 


318  TRUTH 

rancour  to  see  him  suffer.  'A  Catholic  mother,'  she  an- 
swered, 'always  has  the  right  to  have  her  child  baptised, 
particularly  when  she  has  reason  to  suspect  that  its  salvation 
may  be  imperilled  by  its  father's  atheism.  And  as  for  keep- 
ing the  child  here,  there  could  be  no  thought  of  such  a 
thing;  it  would  have  done  neither  the  child  itself,  nor  any- 
body, any  good.' 

Things  were  indeed  such  as  Marc  had  fancied.  The 
child  had  been  regarded  as  the  progeny  of  the  devil,  its 
birth  had  been  awaited  like  that  of  Antichrist,  and  it  had 
been  necessary  to  baptise  it,  and  send  it  away  with  all  speed 
in  order  to  avert  the  greatest  misfortunes.  Later,  it  might 
be  taken  back,  an  attempt  might  be  made  to  consecrate  it 
to  the  Deity  and  make  a  priest  of  it,  in  order  to  appease  the 
divine  anger.  In  this  wise  the  pious  little  home  of  the  Place 
des  Capucins  would  not  undergo  the  shame  of  sheltering  that 
child,  its  father  would  not  soil  the  house  by  coming  to  kiss 
it,  and  as  it  would  not  be  constantly  before  its  mother's  eyes 
the  latter  would  be  delivered  from  remorseful  thoughts. 

Marc,  however,  having  by  an  effort  calmed  himself,  ex- 
claimed firmly:  '  I  wish  to  see  Genevieve.' 

With  equal  decision  Madame  Duparque  replied:  '  You 
cannot  see  her.' 

'  I  wish  to  see  Genevieve, '  he  repeated.  '  Where  is  she  ? 
Upstairs  in  her  old  room  ?  I  shall  know  how  to  find  her. ' 

He  was  already  walking  towards  the  door  when  the 
grandmother  barred  his  passage.  '  You  cannot  see  her,  it 
is  impossible, '  said  she.  '  You  do  not  wish  to  kill  her,  do 
you?  The  sight  of  you  would  give  her  the  most  terrible 
shock.  She  nearly  died  during  her  accouchement.  For 
two  days  past  she  has  been  pale  as  death,  unable  to  speak. 
At  the  least  feverishness  she  loses  her  senses,  the  child  had 
to  be  taken  away  without  letting  her  see  it.  ...  Ah! 
you  may  be  proud  of  your  work ;  Heaven  chastises  all  whom 
you  have  contaminated!  ' 

Then  Marc,  no  longer  restraining  himself,  relieved  his 
heart  in  low  and  quivering  words:  'You  evil  woman!  you 
have  grown  old  in  practising  the  dark  cruelty  of  your  Deity, 
and  now  you  seek  to  annihilate  your  posterity. 
You  will  pursue  the  work  of  withering  your  race  as  long  as 
it  retains  in  its  flesh  one  drop  of  blood,  one  spark  of  human 
kindness.  Ever  since  her  widowhood  you  have  banished 
your  daughter  here  from  life  and  its  sweetness,  you  have 
deprived  her  of  even  the  strength  to  speak  and  complain. 


TRUTH  319 

And  if  your  granddaughter  is  dying  upstairs,  as  the  result 
of  having  been  wrenched  from  her  husband  and  her  child, 
it  is  also  because  you  agreed  to  it,  for  you  alone  served  as 
the  instrument  of  the  abominable  authors  of  this  crime. 
Ah!  yes,  my  poor,  my  adored  Genevieve,  how 
many  lies,  how  many  frightful  impostures  were  needed  to 
take  her  from  me !  And  here  she  has  been  so  stupefied,  so 
perverted  by  black  bigotry  and  senseless  practices  that  she 
is  no  longer  woman,  nor  wife,  nor  mother.  Her  husband 
is  the  devil,  whom  she  may  never  see  again  lest  she  should 
fall  into  hell;  her  babe  is  the  offspring  of  sin,  and  she  would 
be  in  peril  of  damnation  should  she  give  it  her  breast. 
.  Well,  listen,  such  crimes  will  not  be  carried  out  to 
the  very  end.  Life  always  regains  the  upper  hand,  it  drives 
away  the  darkness  and  its  delirious  nightmares  at  each  fresh 
dawn.  You  will  be  vanquished,  I  am  convinced  of  it,  and 
I  even  feel  less  horror  than  pity  for  you,  wretched  old 
woman  that  you  are,  without  either  mind  or  heart! ' 

Madame  Duparque  had  listened,  preserving  her  usual 
expression  of  haughty  severity,  and  not  even  attempting  to 
interrupt.  '  Is  that  all!  '  she  now  inquired.  '  I  am  aware 
that  you  have  no  feelings  of  respect.  As  you  deny  God, 
how  could  one  expect  you  to  show  any  deference  for  a 
grandmother's  white  hair  ?  Nevertheless,  in  order  to  show 
you  how  mistaken  you  are  in  accusing  me  of  cloistering 
Genevieve,  I  will  let  you  pass.  .  .  .  Go  upstairs  to 
her,  kill  her  at  your  ease,  you  alone  will  be  responsible  for 
the  fearful  agony  into  which  the  sight  of  you  will  cast  her.' 

As  she  finished  the  old  lady  moved  away  from  the  door, 
and,  returning  to  her  seat  near  the  window,  resumed  her 
knitting  without  the  slightest  sign  of  emotion,  such  as  might 
have  made  another's  hands  tremble. 

Marc  on  his  side  for  a  moment  remained  motionless,  be- 
wildered, at  a  loss  what  to  do.  Was  it  possible  for  him  to 
see  Genevieve,  talk  to  her,  strive  to  convince  her  and  win 
her  back  at  such  a  time  as  this  ?  He  realised  how  inoppor- 
tune, how  perilous  even,  such  an  effort  would  be.  So 
without  a  word  of  adieu  he  slowly  went  towards  the  door. 
But  a  sudden  thought  made  him  turn. 

'  Since  the  child  is  no  longer  here,  give  me  the  address  of 
the  nurse,'  he  said. 

Madame  Duparque  returned  no  answer,  but  continued  to 
manipulate  her  knitting  needles  with  her  long,  withered 
fingers  in  the  same  regular  fashion  as  before. 


320  TRUTH 

'  You  won't  give  me  the  nurse's  address  ?  '  Marc  repeated. 

There  came  a  fresh  pause,  and  at  last  the  old  woman 
ended  by  saying:  '  It  is  not  my  business  to  give  it  you. 
Go  and  ask  Genevieve  for  it,  since  your  idea  is  to  kill  the 
poor  child.' 

Fury  then  overcame  Marc.  He  sprang  to  the  window 
and  shouted  in  the  grandmother's  impassive  face:  'You 
must  give  me  the  nurse's  address  this  moment,  at  once! ' 

She,  however,  was  still  silently  braving  him  with  her  clear 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  face  when  Madame  Berthereau,  now 
utterly  distracted,  intervened.  At  the  outset  of  the  dispute 
she  had  stubbornly  kept  her  head  bent  over  her  embroidery, 
like  one  who  was  resigned  to  everything,  who  had  become 
cowardly,  and  wished  to  avoid  compromising  herself  for 
fear  of  great  personal  worries.  But  when  Marc,  while  re- 
proaching Madame  Duparque  with  her  harsh  and  fanatical 
tyranny,  had  alluded  to  all  that  she  herself  had  suffered 
since  her  widowhood  in  that  bigoted  home,  she  had  yielded 
to  increasing  emotion,  to  the  tears  which,  long  forced  back, 
again  rose  from  her  heart  and  almost  choked  her.  She 
forgot  some  of  her  silent  timidity;  after  long  years  she 
raised  her  head  once  more,  and  became  impassioned.  And 
when  she  heard  her  mother  refuse  to  give  that  poor,  robbed, 
tortured  man  the  address  of  his  child's  nurse,  she  at  last  re- 
belled, and  cried  the  address  aloud: 

'The  nurse  is  a  Madame  Delorme,  at  Dherbecourt,  near 
Valmarie!' 

At  this,  suddenly  roused  from  her  rigidity,  Madame  Du- 
parque sprang  to  her  feet  with  the  nimbleness  of  a  young 
woman,  waving  her  arm  the  while  as  if  to  strike  down  the 
audacious  creature  whom  she  still  treated  as  a  child,  though 
she  was  more  than  fifty  years  old. 

'  Who  allowed  you  to  speak,  my  girl  ?  Are  you  going  to 
relapse  into  your  past  weakness  ? '  she  cried.  'Are  years 
of  penitence  powerless  to  efface  the  fault  of  a  wicked  mar- 
riage ?  Take  care!  Sin  is  still  within  you,  I  feel  it  is  so, 
in  spite  of  all  your  apparent  resignation.  Why  did  you 
speak  without  my  orders  ? ' 

For  a  moment  Madame  Berthereau,  who  still  quivered 
with  love  and  pity,  was  able  to  resist.  '  I  spoke, '  said  she, 
'  because  my  heart  bleeds  and  protests.  We  have  no  right 
to  refuse  Marc  the  nurse's  address.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes, 
what  we  have  done  is  abominable !  ' 

'  Be  quiet!  '  cried  her  mother  furiously. 


TRUTH  321 

'  I  say  that  it  was  abominable  to  separate  the  wife  from 

the  husband,   and  then  to  separate  the  child  from  both. 

Never  would  Berthereau,  my  poor  dead  husband, 

who  loved  me  so  much,  never  would  he  have  allowed  love 

to  be  slain  like  that,  had  he  been  alive.' 

'  Be  quiet!     Be  quiet!  ' 

Erect,  looking  taller  than  ever  in  the  vigorous  leanness 
of  her  three  and  seventy  years,  the  old  woman  repeated  that 
cry  in  such  an  imperious  voice  that  her  white-haired  daugh- 
ter, seized  with  terror,  surrendered,  and  again  bent  her  head 
over  her  embroidery.  And  heavy  silence  fell  while  she 
shook  with  a  slight  convulsive  tremor,  and  tears  coursed 
slowly  down  her  withered  cheeks,  which  so  many  other 
tears,  shed  secretly,  had  ravaged. 

Marc  had  been  thunderstruck  by  the  sudden  outburst  of 
that  poignant  family  drama,  the  existence  of  which  he 
hitherto  had  merely  suspected.  He  felt  intense  sympathy 
for  that  sad  widow  who,  for  more  than  ten  years  past,  had 
been  hebetated,  crushed  down  by  maternal  despotism,  ex- 
ercised in  the  name  of  a  jealous  and  revengeful  God.  And 
if  the  poor  woman  had  not  defended  his  Genevieve,  if  she 
had  abandoned  her  and  him  to  the  dark  fury  of  the  terrible 
grandmother,  he  forgave  her  for  her  shuddering  cowardice 
on  seeing  how  greatly  she  suffered  herself. 

But  Madame  Duparque  had  again  recovered  her  quiet 
composure.  'You  see,  sir,'  she  said,  'your  presence  here 
brings  scandal  and  violence.  Everything  you  touch  be- 
comes corrupt,  your  breath  suffices  to  taint  the  atmosphere 
of  the  spot  where  you  are.  Here  is  my  daughter,  who  had 
never  ventured  to  raise  her  voice  against  me,  but  as  soon  as 
you  enter  the  house  she  lapses  into  disobedience  and  insult. 
Go,  sir,  go  to  your  dirty  work!  Leave  honest  folk 
alone,  and  work  for  your  filthy  Jew,  though  he  will  end  by 
rotting  where  he  is,  it  is  I  who  predict  it,  for  God  will 
never  suffer  his  venerable  servants  to  be  defeated.' 

In  spite  of  the  emotion  which  made  him  quiver,  Marc 
could  not  refrain  from  smiling  as  he  heard  those  last  words. 
'Ah!  you  have  come  to  the  point,'  he  said,  gently.  '  The 
affair,  alone,  is  at  the  bottom  of  all  this,  is  it  not  so  ?  And 
it  is  the  friend,  the  defender  of  Simon  who  must  be  annihi- 
lated by  dint  of  persecution  and  moral  torture.  Well,  take 
heed  of  this,  make  no  mistake;  sooner  or  later  truth  and 
justice  will  win  the  victory,  Simon  will  some  day  leave 
his  prison,  and  the  real  culprits,  the  liars,  the  workers  of 


322  TRUTH 

darkness  and  death,  will  some  day  be  swept  away  with  their 
temples  whence  for  ages  past  they  have  terrorised  and 
stupefied  mankind! ' 

Then,  turning  towards  Madame  Berthereau,  who  had 
sunk  once  more  into  silent  prostration,  he  added  yet  more 
gently:  'And  I  shall  wait  for  Genevieve.  Tell  her  when 
she  is  able  to  understand  you  that  I  am  waiting  for  her.  I 
shall  wait  as  long  as  she  is  not  restored  to  me.  Even  if  it 
be  only  after  years,  she  will  come  back  to  me,  I  know  it. 
.  .  .  Suffering  does  not  count;  it  is  necessary  to  suffer 
a  great  deal  to  win  the  day,  and  to  enjoy,  at  last,  a  little 
happiness." 

Then,  with  his  heart  lacerated,  swollen  with  bitterness, 
yet  retaining  its  courage,  he  withdrew.  Madame  Duparque 
had  resumed  her  everlasting  knitting,  and  it  seemed  to 
Marc  that  the  little  house  he  quitted  sank  once  more  into 
the  cold  gloom  which  came  to  it  from  the  neighbouring 
church. 

A  month  slipped  away.  Mark  learnt  that  Genevieve  was 
slowly  recovering.  One  Sunday  Pelagic  came  for  Louise, 
who  in  the  evening  told  her  father  that  she  had  found  her 
mother  looking  very  thin  and  broken,  but  able  to  go  down- 
stairs and  seat  herself  at  table,  with  the  others,  in  the  little 
dining-room.  Fresh  hope  then  came  to  Marc,  the  hope  of 
seeing  Genevieve  return  to  him  as  soon  as  she  should  be 
able  to  walk  from  the  Place  des  Capucins  to  the  school. 
Assuredly  she  must  have  reflected,  her  heart  must  have 
awakened  during  her  sufferings.  Thus  he  started  at  the 
slightest  sound  he  heard,  imagining  it  was  she.  But  the 
weeks  went  by,  and  the  invisible  hands  which  had  taken 
her  from  him  were  doubtless  barricading  the  doors  and 
windows  in  order  to  detain  her  yonder.  He  then  sank  into 
deep  sadness,  though  without  losing  his  invincible  faith, 
his  conviction  that  he  would  yet  conquer  by  force  of  truth 
and  love.  He  found  consolation  during  those  dark  days  in 
going,  as  often  as  possible,  to  see  his  little  son  Clement,  at 
the  nurse's,  in  that  pretty  village  of  Dherbecourt,  which 
looked  so  fresh  and  bright  amid  the  meadows  of  the  Ver- 
pille,  among  the  poplar  and  willow  trees.  He  there  spent 
a  delightfully  comforting  hour,  hoping  perhaps  that  some 
happy  chance  would  lead  to  a  meeting  with  Genevieve  be- 
side the  dear  baby's  cradle.  But  she  was  said  to  be  still 
too  weak  to  go  to  see  her  son,  whom  the  nurse  took  to  her 
on  appointed  days. 


TRUTH  323 

From  that  time  Marc  remained  waiting.  Nearly  a  year 
had  elapsed  since  the  Court  of  Cassation  had  begun  its  in- 
quiry, which  had  been  retarded  by  all  sorts  of  complica- 
tions, impeded  by  many  obstacles,  which  were  incessantly 
arising,  thanks  to  the  subterranean  craft  of  the  evil  powers. 
At  the  Lehmanns'  house,  after  the  keen  delight  which  had 
welcomed  the  first  judgment  ordering  the  inquiry,  despair 
was  reappearing  now  that  things  moved  so  slowly  and  the 
news  of  Simon  was  so  bad.  The  Court,  while  deeming  it 
useless  to  have  him  brought  back  to  France  immediately, 
had  caused  him  to  be  informed  that  it  was  considering  the 
revision  of  his  case.  But  in  what  state  would  he  return  ? 
Would  he  not  succumb  to  his  long  sufferings  before  that 
constantly  adjourned  return  could  be  effected  ?  Even 
David,  who  was  so  firm  and  brave,  now  felt  frightened. 
And  the  whole  region  suffered  from  that  long  wait  full  of 
anguish;  it  ravaged  Maillebois  like  an  exhausting  crisis,  the 
prolongation  of  which  kept  all  social  life  in  suspense.  And 
it  began  to  turn  to  the  advantage  of  the  anti-Simonists,  who 
had  recovered  from  the  effects  of  the  terrible  discovery 
made  at  Father  Philibin's.  By  degrees,  availing  themselves 
of  the  slowness  of  the  proceedings  and  the  false  news 
prompted  by  the  very  secrecy  of  the  inquiry,  they  again 
made  a  show  of  triumphing,  and  prophesied  the  certain  and 
crushing  overthrow  of  the  Simonists.  The  lies  and  insults 
of  great  occasions  again  found  place  in  the  infamous  articles 
of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais.  Then,  at  a  ceremony  in  honour  of 
St.  Antony  of  Padua,  Father  The'odose,  speaking  from  the 
pulpit,  ventured  to  allude  to  God's  approaching  triumph 
over  the  accursed  race  of  Judas.  Brother  Fulgence,  also, 
was  again  seen  rushing  like  a  whirlwind  along  the  streets 
and  across  the  squares,  seemingly  very  busy  and  exultant, 
as  if  indeed  he  were  dragging  the  chariot  of  the  Church 
behind  him  in  some  triumphal  procession. 

As  for  Brother  Gorgias,  whom  the  Congregations  began 
to  consider  a  very  compromising  personage,  attempts  were 
made  to  cloister  him  as  much  as  possible,  though  his  friends 
did  not  yet  dare  to  conjure  him  away  into  some  safe  retreat, 
like  Father  Philibin.  In  this  matter,  as  it  happened, 
Brother  Gorgias  was  not  an  easy  customer  to  deal  with,  he 
delighted  to  show  himself  and  astonish  people  by  playing 
the  part  of  a  holy  man  who  negotiated  his  salvation  direct 
with  Heaven.  On  two  occasions  he  created  a  scandal  by 
boxing  the  ears  of  some  children  who  did  not  preserve  a 


324  TRUTH 

sufficiently  sanctimonious  demeanour  on  quitting  the 
Brothers'  school.  Thus  Mayor  PhiHs,  who,  being  a  punc- 
tilious formalist,  was  scared  by  the  other's  extraordinary 
and  violent  piety,  thought  it  his  duty  to  intervene  in  the 
very  interests  of  religion.  The  question  came  before  the 
Municipal  Council,  where,  by  the  way,  Darras,  still  in  a 
minority,  was  now  evincing  the  more  prudence  as  he  did 
not  despair  of  becoming  Mayor  again,  with  a  larger  major- 
ity than  formerly,  should  the  Simon  case  only  turn  out  well. 
Meantime  he  avoided  all  occasions  of  speaking  of  it,  keep- 
ing his  lips  sealed,  feeling  very  anxious  whenever  he  saw 
the  monks  and  the  priests  again  taking  the  side  of  the  wall 
in  Maillebois,  as  if  it  were  for  ever  their  conquered  posses- 
sion. 

But  bad  though  the  news  might  be,  Marc  forced  himself 
to  remain  hopeful.  He  was  very  much  encouraged  by  the 
brave  fidelity  of  his  assistant,  Mignot,  who  each  day  took  a 
larger  share  in  his  life  of  devotion  and  battle.  A  singular 
moral  phenomenon  had  manifested  itself  in  this  transforma- 
tion in  which  one  observed  the  slowly  increasing  influence 
of  a  master  over  a  disciple,  who  at  first  had  rebelled,  then 
had  been  won  back  and  gradually  absorbed.  In  former 
times  nobody  would  have  suspected  there  was  such  heroic 
stuff  in  Mignot  as  now  began  to  appear.  In  the  affair  he  had 
behaved  in  a  most  equivocal  manner,  helping  on  the  charges 
against  Simon,  and  particularly  endeavouring  to  avoid 
everything  compromising.  It  had  seemed  as  if  his  only 
thoughts  were  of  his  own  advancement.  Neither  good  nor 
bad,  he  had  been  liable  at  that  time  to  turn  out  well  or  ill, 
according  to  circumstances  and  associates.  And  Marc  had 
come,  and  had  proved  to  be  the  man  of  intellect  and  will 
who  was  to  decide  the  fate  of  that  conscience,  embellish  it, 
and  raise  it  to  a  perception  of  truth  and  justice.  The  les- 
son shone  forth,  luminous  and  positive ;  example,  the  teach- 
ing of  a  hero,  sufficed  to  make  other  heroes  arise  from 
among  the  vague  dim  masses  of  average  folk.  On  two 
occasions  during  the  last  ten  years  there  had  been  a  desire 
to  appoint  Mignot  as  headmaster  in  a  neighbouring  little 
village,  but  he  had  declined  the  offer,  preferring  to  remain 
by  the  side  of  Marc,  whose  influence  over  him  had  become 
so  great  that  he  spoke  of  never  leaving  him,  of  remaining 
to  the  end  his  faithful  disciple,  resolutely  sharing  his  victory 
or  defeat.  In  the  same  way,  after  postponing  in  a  spirit  of 
expectant  prudence  the  question  whether  he  would  marry 


TRUTH  325 

or  not,  he  had  decided  to  remain  a  bachelor,  saying  that  it 
was  too  late  for  him  to  seek  a  wife,  and  that  his  pupils  had 
now  become  his  family.  Besides,  did  he  not  take  his  meals 
at  Marc's,  where  he  was  greeted  as  a  brother,  making  that 
home  his  own,  and  enjoying  all  the  delights  of  the  nearest 
ties,  those  which  are  drawn  closer  and  closer  as,  by  degrees, 
one  thinks  and  feels  the  same  as  one's  fellow  ? 

Thus  the  slow  sundering  of  Marc  and  Genevieve  had 
proved  extremely  painful  to  Mignot,  and  since  Genevieve's 
departure  he  was  in  despair.  He  now  again  took  his  meals 
at  a  neighbouring  eating  house  in  order  not  to  increase  the 
embarrassment  of  that  stricken  home  where  no  housewife 
was  left.  But  he  gave  proof  of  respectful  affection  for  his 
principal,  and  endeavoured  to  console  him.  If  he  did  not 
join  him  and  keep  him  company  every  evening  after  dinner, 
it  was  from  a  delicate  feeling  of  discretion,  an  unwillingness 
to  obtrude  himself  when  Marc  was  alone  with  his  daughter. 
He  held  back  also  when  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  was  there, 
feeling  that  she  would  prove  more  useful  to  the  forsaken 
husband,  more  expert,  with  her  sisterly  hands,  in  assuaging 
the  pain  of  his  wounds.  And  when  he  saw  Marc  plunging 
into  the  deepest  melancholy,  ready  to  surrender  to  his  suf- 
ferings, he  as  yet  knew  of  only  one  way  of  bringing  joy  and 
hope  to  his  face  again,  which  was  to  reproach  himself  with 
his  testimony  at  Simon's  former  trial,  and  vow  that  at  the 
coming  one  he  would  publicly  relieve  his  conscience  and 
cry  the  truth  aloud !  Ah !  yes,  he  would  swear  that  Simon 
was  innocent,  he  was  convinced  of  it  now  that  a  stream  of 
light  had  illumined  his  memory. 

However,  the  slow  progress  made  by  the  Court  of  Cassa- 
tion continued  to  encourage  the  anti-Simonists  in  their 
desperate  campaign,  and  the  onslaught  of  slander  directed 
against  Marc  became  fiercer  than  ever.  One  morning  a 
rumour  spread  through  Maillebois  that  he  and  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline  had  been  seen  under  circumstances  which  left  no 
doubt  whatever  of  their  guilt.  And  ignoble  particulars  were 
given,  the  inventions,  evidently,  of  overheated  pious  minds. 
At  the  same  time  the  story  remained  unreal,  for  it  was  im- 
possible to  find  a  single  witness,  and  different  versions  began 
to  circulate,  contradictory  in  character  though  tending  to 
make  the  affair  appear  yet  more  horrible.  It  was  Mignot 
who,  feeling  very  anxious,  ventured  to  warn  Marc  of  the 
gravity  of  the  scandal;  and  this  time  it  was  not  sufficient 
for  the  schoolmaster  to  meet  the  ignominious  charges  of 


326  TRUTH 

his  enemies  with  the  haughty  silence  of  disdain.  He  spent 
a  frightful  day,  wrestling  with  his  feelings,  his  heart  rent  by 
the  fresh  sacrifice  which  his  work  demanded  of  him.  When 
twilight  came,  however,  he  had  made  up  his  mind;  and, 
according  to  habit,  he  repaired  to  the  little  garden  where 
he  spent  such  a  pleasant  and  comforting  hour  every  evening 
in  the  company  of  Mademoiselle  Mazeline.  And  as  she 
was  already  there,  also  looking  very  thoughtful  and  sad  as 
she  sat  under  the  lilac  bushes,  he  took  a  seat  in  front  of  her. 
For  a  moment  he  looked  at  her  without  speaking;  then  he 
said: 

'  My  dear  friend,  something  has  happened  which  grieves 
me  very  much,  and  I  wish  to  relieve  my  heart  before  Louise 
joins  us.  ...  We  cannot  continue  meeting  every  day, 
as  we  have  done.  I  even  think  we  should  do  well  if  we 
abstained  in  future  from  all  intercourse.  .  .  .  It  is  a 
question  of  real  farewell ;  it  is  necessary  we  should  part,  my 
friend.' 

She  had  listened  without  giving  any  sign  of  surprise;  it 
was  as  if  she  had  known  beforehand  what  he  wished  to  say. 
Indeed,  in  a  sad  but  courageous  voice  she  answered:  '  Yes, 
my  friend,  it  was  for  that  very  farewell  that  I  came  here  this 
evening.  There  is  no  necessity  for  you  to  urge  me  to  it, 
for,  like  you,  I  feel  that  it  is  a  painful  necessity. 
Somebody  has  told  me  everything.  In  presence  of  such  in- 
famy our  only  weapons  are  abnegation  and  renouncement.' 

A  long  interval  of  silence  fell  under  the  broad,  calm  sky, 
where  the  daylight  was  slowly  dying.  A  penetrating  odour 
came  from  the  wallflowers,  while  a  little  freshness  returned 
to  the  grass,  warmed  by  the  sunshine.  And  Marc  resumed, 
in  an  undertone:  '  Those  unfortunate  men  who  live  outside 
the  pale  of  simple  nature  and  good  sense  can  in  no  wise  deal 
with  man  and  woman  without  imputing  to  them  the  filth 
harboured  by  their  own  minds,  which  the  idea  of  sin  has 
perverted.  For  them  woman  is  but  a  she-devil,  whose  con- 
tact corrupts  everything — tenderness,  affection,  friendship. 
.  .  .  I  had  foreseen  what  has  happened,  but  I  turned  a 
deaf  ear  to  it  all,  unwilling  as  I  was  to  give  them  the  satis- 
faction of  seeing  that  I  heeded  their  slanders.  But  if  I 
myself  can  afford  to  shrug  my  shoulders,  there  is  the  ques- 
tion of  you,  my  friend,  and  that  of  Louise,  who,  so  I  heard 
to-day,  is  likewise  being  assailed  with  this  mud. 
Thus  they  are  again  victorious,  and  will  rejoice  at  having 
added  another  great  grief  to  all  the  others. ' 


TRUTH  327 

'For  me  it  will  be  the  hardest  of  all,'  Mademoiselle  Maze- 
line  answered,  with  much  emotion.  '  I  shall  not  merely  lose 
the  pleasure  of  our  evening  conversations;  I  shall  have  the 
sorrow  of  feeling  that  I  am  of  no  further  use  to  you,  and 
have  left  you  yet  more  lonely  and  unhappy.  Forgive  me 
for  that  vain  thought,  my  friend;  but  it  made  me  so  happy 
to  help  you  in  your  work,  and  to  fancy  I  gave  you  some 
comfort  and  support!  And  now  I  shall  never  think  of  you 
without  picturing  you  forsaken,  alone  —  even  friendless. 
.  .  .  Ah !  there  are  certainly  some  very  detestable  people 
in  the  world.' 

Marc  made  a  trembling  gesture,  which  betrayed  his  grief. 
'  It  was  what  they  wished  to  do,'  said  he;  'yes,  they  wished 
to  isolate  me  and  reduce  me  by  turning  every  affection 
around  me  into  a  void.  And  I  will  admit  to  you  that  this 
is  the  only  wound  which  really  makes  me  surfer.  All  the 
rest,  the  attacks,  the  insults,  the  threats,  spur  me  on,  intoxi- 
cate me  with  a  desire  to  become  heroic.  But  to  be  struck 
in  the  person  of  those  who  belong  to  me,  to  see  them  soiled, 
poisoned,  cast  as  victims  among  the  cruelty  and  shame  of 
the  struggle — that  is  a  frightful  thing,  which  tortures  me 
and  makes  me  cowardly.  .  .  .  They  have  taken  my 
poor  wife,  now  they  are  separating  you  from  me,  and — I 
quite  expect  it — they  will  end  by  carrying  off  my  daughter.' 

Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  whose  eyes  were  filling  with 
tears,  endeavoured  to  silence  him.  '  Take  care,  my 
friend, '  she  said ;  '  here  is  Louise  coming. ' 

But  he  quickly  retorted:  '  I  need  not  take  care.  I  was 
waiting  for  her.  She  must  be  told  what  has  been  decided.' 
And  as  the  smiling  girl  came  forward  and  seated  herself  be- 
tween them,  he  added:  'My  darling,  in  a  moment  you 
must  make  a  little  nosegay  for  Mademoiselle.  I  want  her 
to  have  a  few  of  our  flowers  before  I  bolt  the  door  between 
the  two  gardens.' 

'  Bolt  the  door — why,  father  ? ' 

'  Because  Mademoiselle  must  not  come  here  again.  Our 
friend  is  being  taken  from  us,  as  your  mother  was  taken.' 

Louise  remained  thoughtful  and  grave  during  the  deep 
silence  which  followed.  After  looking  at  her  father,  she 
looked  at  Mademoiselle  Mazeline.  But  she  asked  for  no 
explanations;  she  seemed  to  understand,  all  sorts  of  pre- 
cocious thoughts  passed  like  faint  shadows  over  the  pure 
and  lofty  brow  which  she  had  inherited  from  her  father, 
while  loving  distress  softened  her  eyes. 


328  TRUTH 

'  I  will  go  and  make  the  nosegay, '  she  said  at  last,  '  and 
you  shall  give  it  to  Mademoiselle,  father. ' 

Then,  while  the  girl  went  seeking  the  freshest  flowers 
along  the  borders,  the  others  spent  a  few  sad  yet  sweet 
minutes  together.  They  no  longer  spoke,  but  their  thoughts 
mingled  in  brotherly,  sisterly  fashion,  thoughts  which  dwelt 
only  on  the  happiness  of  others,  the  reconciliation  of  the 
sexes,  the  education  and  liberation  of  woman,  who  in  her 
turn  would  liberate  man.  And  this  was  human  solidarity 
in  all  its  broadness,  with  all  the  binding  and  absolute  ties 
which  friendship  can  set  between  two  creatures,  man  and 
woman,  apart  from  love.  He  was  her  brother,  she  was  his 
sister.  Thus  did  they  ponder;  and  the  night,  which  was 
falling  more  and  more  swiftly  over  the  balmy  garden, 
brought  them  a  restful  freshness  amid  their  sorrow. 

'  Here  is  the  nosegay,  father,'  said  Louise,  approaching; 
'  I  have  tied  it  with  a  bit  of  grass. ' 

Then  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  stood  up,  and  Marc  gave 
her  the  nosegay.  All  three  next  went  towards  the  door. 
When  they  reached  it,  they  remained  standing  there,  still 
saying  nothing,  but  simply  feeling  happy  at  delaying  their 
parting  for  a  moment.  At  last  Marc  set  the  door  wide 
open,  and  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  after  passing  into  her 
own  garden,  turned  round  and,  for  the  last  time,  looked  at 
Marc,  whose  daughter  had  cast  her  arms  about  him  while 
resting  her  head  against  his  shoulder. 

'  Good-bye,  my  friend.' 

'  Good-bye,  my  friend.' 

That  was  all,  the  door  was  slowly  closed;  and  on  either 
side  the  bolts  were  gently  pushed  forward.  But  they  had 
become  rusty,  and  raised  a  little  plaintive  cry,  which 
seemed  very  sad.  Everything  was  over,  blind  hatred  had 
slain  something  that  was  good  and  consoling. 

Another  month  elapsed.  Marc  now  had  only  his  daugh- 
ter beside  him,  and  he  felt  his  abandonment  and  solitude 
increasing.  Louise,  of  course,  still  attended  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline's  school,  and  under  the  inquisitive  eyes  of  the  girls 
the  mistress  tried  to  evince  no  preference  for  her,  but  to 
treat  her  exactly  as  she  treated  the  others.  The  child  no 
longer  lingered  behind  after  class-time,  but  hastened  home 
to  prepare  her  lessons  beside  her  father.  And  if  the  school- 
master and  the  schoolmistress  happened  to  meet,  they  merely 
bowed  to  each  other,  refraining  from  any  exchange  of  words, 
apart  from  such  as  might  be  necessitated  by  their  duties. 


TRUTH  329 

This  attitude  was  very  much  remarked  and  discussed  in 
Maillebois.  Reasonable  people  were  pleased  to  see  they 
did  their  best  to  put  an  end  to  the  horrid  reports  which  had 
been  circulated:  but  the  others  sneered,  saying  that  it  was  all 
very  well  to  save  appearances,  but  this  did  not  prevent  the 
lovers  from  meeting  secretly.  Thus  infamous  reports  again 
began  to  circulate.  When  Marc  heard  of  them  from  Mignot 
he  sank  into  bitter  discouragement.  There  came  hours 
when,  his  courage  failing,  he  asked  of  what  use  it  was  for 
him  to  wreck  his  life  and  renounce  every  happiness,  if  no 
sacrifice  was  to  be  held  in  account  by  the  malicious.  Never 
had  his  solitude  been  so  bitter,  so  hard  to  bear.  As  soon 
as  at  nightfall  he  found  himself  alone  with  Louise  in  the 
cold,  deserted  house,  despair  came  over  him  at  the  thought 
that  if  he  should  some  day  lose  his  child  nobody  would  be 
left  to  love  him  and  warm  his  heart. 

The  girl  lighted  the  lamp  and  seated  herself  at  her  little 
table,  saying:  '  Papa,  I  am  going  to  write  my  history  exer- 
cise, before  I  go  to  bed.' 

'  That  's  right,  my  darling,  work,'  he  answered. 

Then,  amid  the  deep  silence  of  the  empty  house,  anguish 
came  upon  him.  He  could  no  longer  continue  correcting 
his  pupils'  exercises,  but  rose  and  walked  heavily  up  and 
down  the  room.  In  this  wise  he  long  went  on  tramping  to 
and  fro  in  the  gloom  beyond  the  circle  of  light  which  fell 
from  the  lamp-shade.  And,  at  times,  as  he  passed  behind 
his  daughter  he  leant  over  her,  and  brusquely  kissed  her 
hair,  tears  gathering  the  while  in  his  eyes. 

'  Oh !  what  is  the  matter,  papa  ? '  asked  Louise.  '  You 
are  distressing  yourself  again.' 

A  hot  tear  had  fallen  on  her  brow.  Then,  turning 
round,  she  took  hold  of  her  father  with  her  caressing  arms 
and  compelled  him  to  sit  down  near  her.  '  It  is  not  reason- 
able of  you,  papa,  to  distress  yourself  like  that  when  we  are 
alone,'  she  said.  '  You  are  so  brave  in  the  daytime,  but 
one  would  think  you  felt  frightened  in  the  evening,  just  as 
I  used  to  do  when  I  did  not  like  to  remain  without  a  light. 
But  as  you  have  work  to  do,  you  ought  to  work.' 

He  tried  to  laugh.  '  So  it  is  you  who  are  now  the  sensible 
grown-up  person,  my  darling,'  said  he.  '  But  you  are  right, 
certainly;  I  will  get  to  work  again.' 

Then,  however,  as  he  continued  looking  at  her,  his  eyes 
again  clouded,  and  he  once  more  began  to  kiss  her  hair, 
wildly,  distractedly. 


330  TRUTH 

1  What  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  matter  ?  '  she  stam- 
mered, deeply  stirred,  and,  in  her  turn,  shedding  tears. 
'  Why  do  you  kiss  me  like  that,  papa  ?  ' 

In  quivering  accents  he  then  confessed  his  terror,  acknow- 
ledged how  menacing  he  found  all  the  surrounding  gloom : 
'Ah,  if  at  least  you  remain  with  me,  my  child,  if  at  least 
they  do  not  rob  me  of  you  as  well. ' 

She  could  find  no  answer  to  that  plaint,  but  she  caressed 
him,  and  they  wept  together.  At  last,  having  succeeded 
in  inducing  him  to  turn  to  his  pupils'  exercises,  she  herself 
reverted  to  her  history  lesson.  But  when  a  few  minutes 
had  elapsed  anxiety  came  on  Marc  again,  he  was  compelled 
to  rise  from  his  chair,  and  walk,  walk,  without  a  pause. 
One  might  have  thought  he  was  pursuing  his  lost  happiness 
athwart  all  the  silence  and  darkness  of  his  wrecked  home. 

Louise  had  lately  completed  her  thirteenth  year,  so  that 
the  time  when  the  first  Communion  is  usually  made  had 
quite  come;  and  all  the  devotees  of  Maillebois  were  indig- 
nant to  see  such  a  big  girl  remaining  religionless,  refusing 
to  go  to  confession,  and  no  longer  even  attending  Mass. 
And  naturally  she  was  compassionately  called  a  victim, 
crushed  down  beneath  the  brutal  authority  of  her  father, 
who  by  way  of  sacrilege,  it  was  said,  made  her  spit  on  the 
crucifix  every  morning  and  evening.  Moreover,  Madem- 
oiselle Mazeline  assuredly  gave  her  lessons  of  diabolical 
depravity.  But  was  it  not  a  crime  to  leave  that  poor  girl's 
soul  in  a  state  of  perdition,  in  the  power  of  two  of  the 
damned,  whose  notorious  misconduct  horrified  every  con- 
science ?  Thus,  there  was  talk  of  energetic  action,  of 
organising  demonstrations  to  compel  that  unnatural  father 
to  restore  the  daughter  to  her  mother,  the  pious  woman 
whom  he  had  driven  away  by  the  loathsome  baseness  of  his 
life. 

Accustomed  as  Marc  was  to  insults,  he  only  felt  anxious 
when  he  thought  of  the  violent  scenes  to  which  Louise  must 
be  subjected  at  the  ladies'  house.  Her  mother,  still  in  an 
ailing  state,  was  content  to  treat  her  coldly,  with  silent  sad- 
ness, leaving  Madame  Duparque  to  thunder  in  the  name  of 
her  angry  Deity,  and  quicken  the  infernal  flames  under 
Satan's  cauldrons.  Ought  not  a  big  girl,  already  in  her 
fourteenth  year,  to  feel  ashamed  of  living  like  a  savage, 
like  one  of  those  dogs,  who  know  nothing  of  religion  and  are 
driven  from  the  churches  ?  Was  she  not  frightened  by  the 
thought  of  the  eternal  chastisement  which  would  fall  on  her, 


TRUTH  331 

the  boiling  oil,  the  iron  forks,  the  red  hot  hooks,  the  pros- 
pect of  being  lacerated,  boiled,  and  roasted  during  thou- 
sands after  thousands  of  centuries  ?  When  Louise,  on 
returning  home  in  the  evening,  told  Marc  of  those  threats, 
he  shuddered  to  think  that  such  attempts  should  be  made  to 
capture  her  conscience  by  fright,  and  tried  to  read  her  eyes 
in  order  to  ascertain  if  she  were  shaken. 

She  at  times  seemed  moved,  but  then  things  which  were 
really  too  abominable  were  told  her.  And  in  her  quiet, 
sensible  way  she  would  remark :  '  It  is  really  droll,  papa, 
that  the  good  God  should  be  so  spiteful!  Grandmamma 
said  to-day  that  if  I  once  missed  going  to  Mass  the  devil 
would  cut  my  feet  into  little  pieces  through  all  eternity. 
It  would  be  very  unjust;  besides,  it  seems  to  me 
hardly  possible.' 

After  such  remarks  her  father  felt  a  little  easier  in  mind. 
Unwilling  as  he  was  to  do  any  violence  to  his  daughter's 
growing  intelligence,  he  entered  into  no  direct  discussion  of 
the  strange  lessons  which  she  received  at  the  ladies'  house; 
he  contented  himself  with  some  general  teaching,  based  on 
reason,  and  appealing  to  the  child's  sense  of  truth,  justice, 
and  kindness.  He  was  delighted  by  the  precocious  waken- 
ing of  good  sense  which  he  noticed  in  her,  a  craving  for 
logic  and  certainty  which  she  must  have  inherited  from 
him.  It  was  with  joy  that  he  saw  a  woman  with  a  clear, 
strong  mind  and  a  tender  heart  already  emerging  from  the 
weak  girl,  who  still  retained  in  many  respects  the  childish- 
ness of  her  years.  And  if  he  felt  anxious,  it  was  from  a  fear 
lest  the  promise  of  a  beautiful  harvest  should  be  destroyed. 
He  only  recovered  his  calmness  when  the  girl  astonished 
him  by  reasoning  things  as  if  she  were  already  a  grown 
woman  full  of  sense. 

'  Oh !  I  am  very  polite,  you  know,  with  grandmamma, ' 
she  said  one  day.  '  I  tell  her  that  if  I  do  not  go  to  confes- 
sion or  make  my  first  Communion,  it  is  because  I  am  waiting 
till  I  am  twenty  years  old,  as  you  asked  me  to  do. 
That  seems  to  me  very  reasonable.  And,  by  keeping  to 
that,  I  am  very  strong;  for  when  one  has  reason  on  one's 
side  one  is  always  very  strong,  is  it  not  so  ?  ' 

At  times,  too,  in  spite  of  her  affection  and  deference  for 
her  mother,  she  said  with  a  smile,  in  a  gentle,  jesting  way: 
'  You  remember,  papa,  that  mamma  said  she  would  explain 
the  Catechism  to  me,  and  I  answered  her,  "  Yes,  mamma, 
you  shall  hear  me  my  lessons.  You  know  that  I  try  my 


332  TRUTH 

best  to  understand."  Well,  as  I  never  understood  any- 
thing at  the  Catechism  class,  mamma  wished  to  explain 
matters  to  me.  But,  unfortunately,  I  still  understand 
nothing  whatever  of  it.  ...  It  puts  me  into  great  em- 
barrassment. I  feel  afraid  I  may  grieve  her,  and  all  I  can 
do  is  to  pretend  that  I  suddenly  understand  something. 
But  I  must  look  very  stupid,  for  she  always  interrupts  the 
lesson  as  if  she  were  angry,  and  calls  me  foolish. 
The  other  day,  when  she  was  talking  of  the  mystery  of  the 
Incarnation,  she  repeated  that  it  was  not  a  question  of 
understanding  but  of  believing;  and  as  I  unluckily  told  her 
that  I  could  not  believe  without  understanding,  she  said 
that  was  one  of  your  phrases,  papa,  and  that  the  devil  would 
take  both  of  us.  ...  Oh,  I  cried,  I  cried! ' 

She  smiled,  however,  as  she  spoke  of  it,  and  added  in  a 
lower  tone:  '  Instead  of  making  me  think  more  as  mamma 
does,  the  Catechism  has  rather  taken  me  away  from  her 
ideas.  There  are  too  many  things  in  it  that  worry  my 
mind.  It  is  wrong  of  mamma  to  try  to  force  them  into  my 
head.' 

Her  father  could  have  kissed  her.  Was  he  to  have  the 
joy  of  finding  in  his  daughter  an  exception,  one  of  those 
well-balanced  little  minds  that  ripen  early,  in  which  sense 
seems  to  grow  as  in  some  propitious  soil  ?  Other  girls,  at 
that  troublous  hour  of  maidenhood,  are  still  so  childish  and 
so  greatly  disturbed  by  the  quiver  which  comes  upon  them 
that  they  easily  fall  a  prey  to  fairy  tales  and  mystical  reveries. 
How  rare  would  be  his  luck  if  his  own  girl  should  escape 
the  fate  of  her  companions,  whom  the  Church  seized  and 
conquered  at  a  disturbing  hour  of  life.  Tall,  strong,  and 
very  healthy,  she  was  already  a  young  woman,  though  there 
were  days  when  she  became  quite  childish  once  more, 
amusing  herself  with  trifles,  saying  silly  things,  returning 
to  her  doll,  with  which  she  held  extraordinary  conversa- 
tions. And  on  those  days  anxiety  came  back  to  her  father; 
he  trembled  as  he  observed  that  there  was  still  so  much 
puerility  in  her  nature,  and  wondered  if  the  others  might 
not  yet  steal  her  from  him,  and  end  by  obscuring  her  mind, 
whose  dawn  was  so  limpid  and  so  fresh. 

'Ah,  yes,  papa,  what  my  doll  said  just  now  was  very 
silly!  But  what  can  you  expect  ?  She  's  not  very  sensible 
yet.' 

'  And  do  you  hope  to  make  her  sensible,  my  darling  ? ' 

'  I  scarcely  know.     Her  head  is  so  hard.     With  Bible 


TRUTH  333 

history  she  does  fairly  well;  she  can  recite  that  by  heart. 
But  with  grammar  and  arithmetic  she  is  a  real  blockhead.' 

Then  she  laughed.  That  sorry  home  might  be  empty 
and  icy  cold,  she  none  the  less  filled  it  with  childish  gaiety, 
as  sonorous  as  April's  trumpet-wind.  But  the  days  went 
by,  and  with  the  lapse  of  time  Louise  became  more  serious 
and  thoughtful.  On  returning  from  her  Thursday  and 
Sunday  visits  to  her  mother  she  sank  into  long,  silent 
reveries.  Of  an  evening,  while  she  was  working  beside  the 
lamp,  she  paused  at  times  to  give  her  father  a  long  look, 
full  of  sorrowful  affection.  And  at  last  came  that  which 
was  bound  to  come. 

It  was  a  warm  evening,  and  a  storm  was  threatening,  the 
heavens  were  heavy  with  a  mass  of  inky  clouds.  The  father 
and  the  daughter,  according  to  their  habit,  sat  working  in 
the  little  circular  patch  of  light  which  fell  from  the  lamp- 
shade; and  through  the  window,  set  wide  open  upon  the 
dark  and  slumbering  town,  some  moths  flew  in,  they  alone 
disturbing  the  profound  silence  with  the  slight  quiver  of 
their  wings.  Louise,  who  had  spent  the  afternoon  at  the 
house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins,  seemed  very  tired.  It 
was  as  if  her  brow  was  laden  with  some  weighty  thought. 
Leaning  over  her  exercise  paper,  she  ceased  writing  and 
reflected.  And,  at  last,  making  up  her  mind  to  set  down 
her  pen,  she  spoke  out  amid  the  deep,  mournful  quietude 
of  the  house. 

'  Papa,  I  want  to  tell  you  something  which  grieves  me 
very  much.  I  shall  certainly  cause  you  very  great,  great 
sorrow;  and  that  is  why  I  did  not  have  the  courage  to  tell 
you  of  it  before.  But  I  have  made  up  my  mind  now  not  to 
go  to  bed  before  telling  you  of  what  I  want  to  do — for  it 
seems  to  me  so  reasonable  and  necessary.' 

Marc  had  immediately  looked  up,  a  pang,  a  feeling  of 
terror  coming  to  his  heart,  for  by  the  girl's  tremulous  voice 
he  guessed  that  the  supreme  disaster  was  at  hand.  '  What 
is  it,  my  darling  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Well,  papa,  I  have  been  turning  the  matter  over  in  my 
head  all  day,  and  it  seems  to  me  that,  if  you  think  as  I  do, 
I  ought  to  go  and  live  with  mamma  at  grandmother's.' 

Marc,  thoroughly  upset,  began  by  protesting  violently: 
1  What,  think  as  you  do!  No,  no,  I  won't  allow  it!  I  mean 
to  keep  you  here,  I  will  prevent  you  from  forsaking  me.' 

'Oh!  papa,'  she  murmured  distressfully,  'think  it  over, 
only  just  a  little,  and  you  will  see  that  I  am  right.' 


334  TRUTH 

But  he  did  not  listen,  he  had  risen  and  was  walking 
wildly  about  the  dim  room.  '  I  have  only  you  left  me,  and 
you  think  of  going  away!  My  wife  has  been  taken  from 
me,  and  now  my  daughter  is  to  be  taken,  and  I  am  to  re- 
main alone,  stripped,  forsaken,  without  an  affection  left! 
Ah !  I  felt  that  this  coup  de  grdce  was  coming,  I  foresaw  that 
those  abominable  hands,  working  in  the  darkness,  would 
tear  away  the  last  shred  of  my  heart.  .  .  .  But  no !  no ! 
this  is  too  much,  never  will  I  consent  to  such  a  separation !  ' 

And  stopping  short  before  his  daughter,  he  continued 
roughly:  '  Have  you  also  had  your  mind  and  heart  spoilt 
that  you  no  longer  love  me  ?  ...  At  each  of  your 
visits  to  your  grandmother's  I  am  put  on  trial — is  it  not  so  ? 
— and  infamous  things  are  said  about  me  in  order  to  detach 
you  from  me.  It  is  a  question — eh  ? — of  saving  you  from 
the  damned  and  restoring  you  to  the  good  friends  of  those 
ladies,  who  will  turn  you  into  a  hypocrite  and.  a  lunatic. 
And  you  listen  to  my  enemies,  and  yield  to  their 
constant  obsession  by  forsaking  me.' 

Louise,  in  despair,  her  eyes  full  of  tears,  raised  her  hands 
entreatingly.  '  Papa,  papa,  calm  yourself! '  she  cried.  '  I 
assure  you  that  you  are  mistaken,  mamma  has  never  allowed 
anything  evil  to  be  said  about  you  before  me.  Grand- 
mother, no  doubt,  does  not  like  you,  and  she  would  often 
do  well  to  keep  quiet  when  I  am  there.  It  would  be  telling 
a  falsehood  to  say  that  she  does  not  do  all  she  can  to  get  me 
to  join  mamma  and  live  with  her.  But  I  swear  to  you  that 
neither  she  nor  any  of  the  others  has  anything  to  do  with  what 
I  propose.  .  .  .  You  know  very  well  that  I  never  tell 
you  stories.  It  is  I  myself  who  have  thought  it  all  over,  and 
come  to  the  conclusion  that  our  separation  would  be  a  good 
and  sensible  thing.' 

'A  good  thing — that  you  should  forsake  me!  Why,  it 
would  kill  me!  ' 

'  No,  you  will  understand — and  you  are  so  brave !  .  .  . 
Sit  down  and  listen  to  me.' 

She  gently  compelled  him  to  seat  himself  again  in  front 
of  her.  And,  taking  his  hands  in  hers  caressingly,  she 
reasoned  with  him  like  a  shrewd  little  woman. 

'Everybody  at  grandmother's,'  said  she,  'is  convinced 
that  you  alone  turn  me  away  from  religion.  You  weigh  on 
me,  it  is  said,  you  impose  your  ideas  on  me,  and  if  I  could 
only  escape  from  you  I  should  go  to  confession  to-morrow 
and  make  my  first  Communion.  ...  So  why  should  I 


TRUTH  335 

not  prove  to  them  that  they  are  mistaken  ?  To-morrow  I 
will  go  and  live  at  grandmother's,  and  then  they  will  see  for 
themselves,  they  will  have  to  admit  how  mistaken  they  have 
been,  for  nothing  will  prevent  me  from  giving  them  always 
the  same  answer:  "I  have  promised  not  to  make  my  first 
Communion  before  I  am  twenty,  in  order  that  the  full  re- 
sponsibility of  such  an  action  may  be  mine  only,  and  I  shall 
keep  my  promise,  I  shall  wait." 

Marc  made  a  gesture  of  doubt.  '  My  poor  child,'  said 
he,  '  you  don't  know  them,  they  will  have  broken  down 
your  resistance  and  have  conquered  you  in  a  few  weeks' 
time.  You  are  still  only  a  little  girl. ' 

In  her  turn  Louise  rebelled.  'Ah!  it  is  not  nice  of  you, 
papa,  to  think  there  is  so  little  seriousness  in  me!  I  am  a 
little  girl,  it  is  true,  but  your  little  girl,  and  proud  of  it! ' 

She  spoke  those  words  with  such  childish  bravery  that  he 
could  not  help  smiling.  That  darling  daughter,  in  whom 
he  every  now  and  again  recognised  himself,  in  whom  he 
found  thoughtfulness  and  logic  blended  with  passionate 
earnestness,  warmed  his  heart.  He  looked  at  her,  and 
found  her  very  pretty  and  very  sensible,  with  a  face  which 
was  both  firm  and  proud,  and  bright  eyes,  whose  frankness 
was  admirable.  And  he  continued  listening  while  she, 
keeping  his  hands  in  her  own,  set  forth  the  reasons  which 
prompted  her  to  join  her  mother  in  the  devout  little  house 
of  the  Place  des  Capucins.  Without  any  reference  to  the 
frightful  slanders  which  were  current,  she  let  -him  under- 
stand that  it  would  be  well  for  them  not  to  brave  public 
opinion.  As  people  said  on  all  sides  that  her  right  place 
was  at  the  ladies'  house,  she  was  willing  to  repair  thither; 
and  though  she  was  only  thirteen  years  of  age,  she  would 
certainly  be  its  most  sensible  inmate,  folk  would  see  if  the 
work  she  did  there  did  not  prove  the  best. 

'  No  matter,  my  child,'  Marc  said  at  last  with  an  air  of 
great  lassitude,  '  you  will  never  convince  me  of  the  neces- 
sity of  a  rupture  between  you  and  me.' 

She  felt  that  he  was  weakening.  '  But  it  is  not  a  rupture 
papa,'  she  exclaimed;  '  I  have  gone  to  see  mamma  twice  a 
week,  and  I  shall  come  to  see  you,  more  often  than  that, 
too.  .  .  .  Besides,  don't  you  understand  ?  Perhaps 
mamma  will  listen  to  me  a  little  when  I  am  beside  her.  I 
shall  speak  to  her  of  you,  I  shall  tell  her  how  much  you  still 
love  her,  how  you  weep  for  her.  And — who  knows  ? — she 
will  reflect,  and  perhaps  I  shall  bring  her  back  to  you.' 


336  TRUTH 

Then  the  tears  of  both  began  to  flow.  They  gave  way  to 
their  emotion  in  each  other's  arms.  The  father  was  upset 
by  the  deep  charm  of  that  daughter  in  whom  so  much 
puerility  still  mingled  with  so  much  sense,  goodness,  and 
hopefulness.  And  the  girl  yielded  to  her  heart,  like  one 
ripened  before  her  time  by  things  of  which  she  was  vaguely 
conscious,  but  which  she  would  have  been  unable  to  explain. 

'  Do,  then,  as  you  please,'  Marc  ended  by  stammering 
amid  his  tears.  'But  if  I  yield,  don't  think  that  I  approve, 
for  my  whole  being  rebels  and  protests.' 

That  was  the  last  evening  they  spent  together.  The 
warm  night  remained  of  an  inky  blackness.  There  seemed 
to  be  not  a  breath  of  air.  And  not  a  sound  came  through 
the  open  window  from  the  resting  town.  Only  the  silent 
moths  flew  in,  scorching  themselves  by  contact  with  the 
lamp.  The  storm  did  not  burst,  and  until  very  late  the 
father  and  the  daughter,  speaking  no  further,  remained,  one 
in  front  of  the  other,  seated  at  their  table,  as  if  busy  with 
their  work,  but  simply  happy  at  being  together  yet  a  little 
longer,  amid  the  far-spreading  peaceful  quietude. 

How  frightful,  however,  did  the  following  evening  prove 
for  Marc !  His  daughter  had  left  him,  and  he  was  absolutely 
alone  in  that  empty  and  dismal  dwelling.  After  the  wife, 
the  child — he  had  nobody  to  love  him  now,  all  his  heart  had 
been  torn  from  him,  bit  by  bit.  Moreover,  in  order  that  he 
might  not  even  have  the  consolation  of  friendship,  he  had 
been  compelled,  by  base  slanders,  to  cease  all  intercourse 
with  the  one  woman  whose  lofty  sisterly  mind  might  have 
sustained  him.  The  complete  wrecking  of  his  life,  of  the 
approach  of  which  he  had  long  been  conscious,  was  now 
effected;  the  stealthy  work  of  destruction,  performed  by 
hateful,  invisible  hands  bent  on  undermining  him  and  throw- 
ing him  down  on  the  ruins  of  his  own  work,  was  accom- 
plished. And  now,  no  doubt,  the  others  believed  they  held 
him,  bleeding  from  a  hundred  wounds,  tortured  and  for- 
saken, strengthless  in  his  blasted  dwelling,  that  soiled  and 
deserted  home,  where  he  was  left  in  agony.  And,  indeed, 
on  that  first  evening  of  solitude  he  was  really  a  beaten  man, 
and  his  enemies  might  well  have  thought  him  at  their  mercy 
had  they  been  able  to  see  him  coming  and  going  in  the  pale 
twilight  with  a  staggering  gait,  like  some  wretched  stricken 
beast  seeking  a  shadowy  nook  there  to  lie  down  and  die. 

The  times  were,  in  truth,  frightful.  The  worst  possible 
news  was  current  respecting  the  inquiry  of  the  Court  of 


TRUTH  337 

Cassation,  whose  slowness  seemed  to  hide  a  desire  to  bury 
the  affair.  In  vain  had  Marc  hitherto  compelled  himself  to 
hope:  each  day  his  dread  increased  lest  he  should  hear  of 
Simon's  death  before  the  revision  of  the  case  should  be  an 
accomplished  fact.  During  that  mournful  time  he  pictured 
everything  as  lost,  revision  rejected,  his  long  efforts  proving 
useless,  truth  and  justice  finally  slain — an  execrable  social 
crime,  a  shameful  catastrophe,  which  would  engulf  the  whole 
country.  The  thought  of  it  filled  him  with  a  kind  of  pious 
horror,  sent  a  chilling  shudder  of  dread  through  his  veins. 
And,  besides  that  public  disaster,  there  was  the  disaster  of  his 
own  life,  which  weighed  upon  him  more  and  more.  Now 
that  Louise  was  no  longer  there,  moving  his  heart  with  her 
charming  ways,  inspiriting  him  with  her  precocious  sense 
and  courage,  he  asked  himself  how  he  could  have  been  mad 
enough  to  let  her  go  to  the  ladies'  house.  She  was  but  a 
child,  she  would  be  conquered  in  a  few  weeks  by  the  all- 
powerful  Church,  which  for  ages  past  had  been  victorious 
over  woman.  She  had  been  taken  from  him;  she  would 
never  be  restored  to  him,  indeed  he  would  never  see  her 
more.  And  it  was  he  who  had  sent  that  still  defenceless 
victim  to  error.  His  work,  he  himself,  and  those  who  be- 
longed to  him,  were  all  annihilated;  and  at  the  thought  of 
it  he  sank  into  heartrending  despair. 

Eight  o'clock  struck,  and  Marc  had  not  yet  found  the 
strength  to  seat  himself  and  dine  alone  in  that  room,  which 
now  had  become  quite  dim,  when  he  heard  a  timid  knock 
at  the  door.  And  great  was  his  astonishment  when  in  came 
Mignot,  who  at  first  found  it  difficult  to  explain  himself. 

'You  see,  Monsieur  Froment,'  he  began,  'as  you  an- 
nounced to  me  this  morning  the  departure  of  your  little 
Louise,  an  idea  came  to  me,  and  I  've  been  turning  it  over 
in  my  mind  all  day.  .  .  .  So,  this  evening,  before  going 
to  dine  at  the  eating  house — 

He  paused,  seeking  his  words. 

'  What,  have  n't  you  dined  yet,  Mignot!  '  Marc  exclaimed. 

'  Why,  no,  Monsieur  Froment.  .  .  .  You  see,  my 
idea  was  to  come  and  dine  with  you,  to  keep  you  company 
a  little.  But  I  hesitated  and  lost  time.  .  .  .  If  it  would 
please  you,  however,  now  that  you  are  alone,  I  might  board 
with  you  again.  Two  men  can  always  agree.  We  could 
do  the  cooking,  and  surely  get  through  '  the  housework 
together.  Are  you  agreeable  ?  It  would  please  me  very 
much.' 


338  TRUTH 

A  little  joy  had  returned  to  Marc's  heart;  and,  with  a 
smile  tinged  with  emotion,  he  replied:  '  I  am  quite  willing. 
.  You  are  a  good  fellow,  Mignot.  .  .  .  There, 
sit  down,  we  will  begin  by  dining  together.' 

And  they  dined,  face  to  face,  the  master  relapsing  the 
while  into  his  bitterness  of  spirit,  the  assistant  rising  every 
now  and  then  very  quietly  to  fetch  a  plate  or  a  piece  of 
bread,  amid  the  melancholy  calm  of  evening. 


II 

THEN,  during  the  months  and  months  that  the  inquiry 
of  the  Court  of  Cassation  lasted,  Marc  again  had  to 
shut  himself  up  in  his  school,  and  devote  himself, 
body  and  soul,  to  his  task  of  instructing  the  humble,  and 
rendering  them  more  capable  of  truth  and  justice. 

Among  the  hopes  and  the  despairs  which  continued  to 
enfever  him,  according  as  the  news  he  heard  proved  good 
or  bad,  there  was  one  thought  that  haunted  him  more  and 
more.  Long  previously,  at  the  very  outset  of  the  affair,  he 
had  wondered  why  France,  all  France,  did  not  rise  to  exact 
the  release  of  the  innocent  prisoner.  One  of  his  dearest 
illusions  had  been  his  belief  in  a  generous  France,  a  mag- 
nanimous and  just  France,  which  many  times  already  had 
passionately  espoused  the  cause  of  equity,  and  which  would 
surely  prove  its  goodness  of  heart  yet  once  again  by  striving 
its  utmost  to  repair  the  most  execrable  of  judicial  errors. 
And  the  painful  surprise  he  had  experienced  on  finding  the 
country  so  stolid  and  indifferent  after  the  trial  at  Beaumont 
now  increased  daily,  became  more  and  more  torturing;  for 
in  the  earlier  stages  of  the  affair  he  had  been  able  to  excuse 
it,  realising  that  people  were  ignorant  of  the  true  facts  and 
poisoned  with  lies.  But  now,  when  so  much  light  had  been 
cast  on  the  affair,  so  much  truth  made  manifest,  he  could 
find  no  possible  explanation  for  such  prolonged  and  such 
shameful  slumber  in  iniquity.  Had  France  been  changed, 
then  ?  Was  it  no  longer  the  liberator  ?  Since  it  now  knew 
the  truth,  why  did  it  not  rise  en  massf,  instead  of  remaining 
an  obstacle,  a  blind,  deaf  multitude  barring  the  road  ? 

And  Marc  always  returned  in  thought  to  his  starting- 
point,  when  the  necessity  of  his  humble  work  as  a  school- 
master had  become  apparent  to  him.  If  France  still  slept 
the  heavy  sleep  of  conscienceless  matter,  it  was  because 
France  did  not  yet  know  enough.  A  shudder  came  upon 
him:  how  many  generations,  how  many  centuries  would 
be  needed  for  a  people,  nourished  with  truth,  to  become 

339 


340  TRUTH 

capable  of  equity  ?  For  nearly  fifteen  years  he  had  been 
endeavouring  to  train  up  just  men,  a  generation  had  already 
passed  through  his  hands,  and  he  asked  himself  what  was 
really  the  progress  that  had  been  effected.  Whenever  he 
met  any  of  his  old  pupils  he  chatted  with  them,  and  com- 
pared them  both  with  their  parents,  who  were  less  freed 
from  the  original  clay,  and  with  the  boys  who  nowadays 
attended  his  school,  and  whom  he  hoped  to  free  yet  more 
than  their  forerunners.  Therein  lay  his  great  task,  the 
mission  he  had  undertaken  at  a  decisive  hour  of  his  life, 
and  prosecuted  throughout  all  his  sufferings,  doubting  its 
efficacy  in  occasional  moments  of  weariness,  but  on  the 
morrow  always  taking  it  up  again  with  renewed  faith. 

One  bright  August  evening,  having  strolled  along  the 
road  to  Valmarie  as  far  as  Bongard's  farm,  Marc  perceived 
Fernand,  his  former  pupil,  who  was  returning  home  with  a 
scythe  on  his  shoulder.  Fernand  had  lately  married  Lucile, 
the  daughter  of  Doloir,  the  mason ;  he  now  being  five-and- 
twenty,  and  she  nineteen  years  of  age.  They  had  long 
been  friends,  having  played  together  in  the  old  days  on 
leaving  school;  and  that  evening  the  young  wife,  a  little 
blonde,  with  a  gentle,  smiling  demeanour,  was  also  there, 
seated  in  the  yard  and  mending  some  linen. 

'  Well,  Fernand,  are  you  satisfied  ?  Is  there  a  good  crop 
of  wheat  this  year  ? '  Marc  inquired. 

Fernand  still  had  a  heavy  face  with  a  hard  and  narrow 
brow,  and  his  words  came  slowly  as  in  his  childish  days. 
'Oh!  Monsieur  Froment,'  he  replied,  'one  can  never  be 
satisfied;  there  's  too  much  worry  with  this  wretched  land, 
it  takes  more  than  it  gives.' 

As  his  father,  though  barely  fifty  years  of  age,  was  already 
heavy  of  limb,  tortured  by  rheumatic  pains,  Fernand,  on 
finishing  his  term  of  military  service,  had  resolved  to  help 
him,  instead  of  seeking  employment  elsewhere.  And  the 
struggle  at  the  farm  was  the  same  bitter  one  as  of  old,  the 
family  living  from  father  to  son  on  the  fields  whence  it 
seemed  to  have  sprung,  and  toiling  and  moiling  blindly  in 
its  stubborn  ignorance  and  neglect  of  progress. 

'Ah!  no,  one  is  never  satisfied,'  Fernand  slowly  resumed; 
'  even  you  are  not  over-pleased  with  things,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment, in  spite  of  all  you  know.' 

Marc  detected  in  those  words  some  of  the  jeering  con- 
tempt for  knowledge  which  was  to  be  expected  from  a  hard- 
headed,  sleepy  dunce  who  in  his  school-days  had  found  it 


TRUTH  341 

difficult  to  remember  a  single  lesson.  Moreover,  Fernandas 
remark  embodied  a  prudent  allusion  to  the  events  which 
were  upsetting  the  whole  region,  and  Marc  availed  himself 
of  this  circumstance  to  inquire  into  his  former  pupil's  views. 

'Oh !  I  am  always  pleased  when  my  boys  learn  their  lessons 
fairly  well,  and  don't  tell  too  many  stories,'  he  said  gaily. 
'You  know  that  very  well;  just  remember.  .  .  .  Besides, 
I  received  to-day  some  good  news  about  the  affair  to 
which  I  have  been  attending  so  long.  Yes,  the  innocence 
of  my  poor  friend  Simon  is  about  to  be  recognised  for 
good.' 

At  this  Fernand  manifested  great  embarrassment,  his 
countenance  became  heavier,  and  the  light  in  his  eyes  died 
away.  '  But  that  's  not  what  some  folk  say,'  he  remarked. 

'  What  do  they  say,  then  ? ' 

'  They  say  that  the  judges  have  found  out  more  things 
about  the  old  schoolmaster.' 

'  What  things  are  those  ? ' 

'  Oh,  all  sorts,  it  seems.' 

At  last  Fernand  consented  to  explain  himself,  and  started 
on  a  ridiculous  yarn.  The  Jews,  said  he,  had  given  a  big 
sum  of  money,  five  millions  of  francs,  to  their  co-religionist 
Simon  in  order  that  he  might  get  a  Brother  of  the  Christian 
Doctrine  guillotined.  Simon  having  failed  in  his  plan,  the 
five  millions  were  lying  in  a  hiding-place,  and  the  Jews 
were  now  striving  to  get  Brother  Gorgias  sent  to  the  galleys 
— even  if  in  doing  so  they  should  drown  France  in  blood — 
in  order  that  Simon  might  return  and  dig  up  the  treasure, 
the  hiding-place  of  which  was  known  only  to  himself. 

'Come,  my  lad,'  Marc  answered,  quite  aghast,  'surely 
you  don't  believe  such  absurdity! ' 

1  Well,  why  not  ? '  rejoined  the  young  peasant,  who  looked 
only  half  awake. 

'  Why,  because  your  good  sense  ought  to  rebel  against  it. 
You  know  how  to  read,  you  know  how  to  write,  and  I  flat- 
tered myself  also  that  I  had  in  some  degree  awakened  your 
mind  and  taught  you  how  to  distinguish  between  truth  and 
falsehood.  .  .  .  Come,  come,  have  n't  you  remembered 
anything  of  what  you  learnt  when  you  were  with  me  ? ' 

Fernand  waved  his  hand  in  a  tired,  careless  way.  'If  one 
had  to  remember  everything.  Monsieur  Froment,  one  would 
have  one's  head  too  full,'  he  said.  '  I  have  only  told  you 
what  I  hear  people  saying  everywhere.  Folks  who  are  far 
cleverer  than  I  am  give  their  word  of  honour  that  it  's  true. 


342  TRUTH 

.  .  .  Besides,  I  read  something  like  it  in  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais  the  day  before  yesterday.  And  since  it 's  in  print 
there  must  surely  be  some  truth  in  it." 

Marc  made  a  gesture  of  despair.  What!  he  had  not 
overcome  ignorance  more  than  that  after  all  his  years  of 
striving!  That  young  fellow  remained  the  easiest  prey  for 
error  and  falsehood,  he  blindly  accepted  the  most  stupid 
inventions,  he  possessed  neither  the  freedom  of  mind  nor 
the  sense  of  logic  necessary  to  enable  him  to  weigh  the 
fables  which  he  read  in  his  newspaper.  So  great  indeed 
was  his  credulity  that  it  seemed  to  disturb  even  his  wife, 
the  blonde  Lucile. 

'  Oh!'  said  she,  raising  her  eyes  from  her  work,  '  a  treas- 
ure of  five  millions,  that  is  a  great  deal  of  money.' 

Though  Lucile  had  failed  to  secure  a  certificate,  she  had 
been  one  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's  passable  pupils,  and 
her  mind  now  seemed  to  have  awakened.  It  was  said  she 
was  pious.  In  former  days  the  schoolmistress  had  some- 
what proudly  cited  her  as  an  example,  on  account  of  the 
glib  manner  in  which  she  recited  the  long  Gospel  narrative 
of  the  Passion  without  making  a  single  mistake.  But  since 
her  marriage,  though  one  still  found  in  her  the  sly  submis- 
siveness  and  the  hypocritical  restrictions  of  a  woman  on 
whom  the  Church  had  set  its  mark,  she  had  ceased  to  follow 
the  usual  observances.  And  she  even  discussed  things  a 
little. 

'Five  millions  in  a  hiding-place,'  Marc  repeated,  'five 
millions  slumbering  there,  pending  the  return  of  my  poor 
Simon — it  's  madness!  But  what  of  all  the  new  documents 
that  have  been  discovered,  all  the  proofs  against  Brother 
Gorgias  ? ' 

Lucile  was  becoming  bolder.  With  a  pretty  laugh  she 
exclaimed:  '  Oh!  Brother  Gorgias  is  n't  worth  much.  He 
may  well  have  a  weight  on  his  conscience,  though  all  the 
same  it  would  be  as  well  to  leave  him  quiet  on  account  of 
religion.  .  .  .  But  I  've  also  read  the  newspapers,  and 
they  've  made  me  reflect.' 

'Ah!  well,'  concluded  Fernand,  'one  would  never  finish 
if  one  had  to  reflect  after  reading.  It 's  far  better  to  remain 
quiet  in  one's  corner.' 

Marc  was  again  about  to  protest  when  a  sound  of  foot- 
steps made  him  turn  his  head,  and  he  perceived  old  Bongard 
and  his  wife,  who  also  had  just  returned  from  the  fields, 
with  their  daughter,  Angele.  Bongard,  who  had  heard  his 


TRUTH  343 

son's  last  words,  at  once  addressed  himself  to  the  school- 
master. 

'  What  the  lad  says  is  quite  true,  Monsieur  Froment. 
It  's  best  not  to  worry  one's  mind  with  reading  so  much 
stuff.  ...  In  my  time  we  did  not  read  the  papers  at 
all,  and  we  were  no  worse  off.  Is  n't  that  so,  wife  ? ' 

'  Sure  it  is ! '  declared  La  Bongard  energetically. 

But  Angele,  who,  in  spite  of  her  hard  nut,  had  won  a 
certificate  at  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's  by  force  of  stubborn- 
ness, smiled  in  a  knowing  manner.  An  inner  light,  fighting 
its  way  through  dense  matter,  occasionally  illumined  the 
whole  of  her  face,  which  with  its  short  nose  and  large 
mouth  remained  at  other  moments  so  dull  and  heavy.  In 
a  few  weeks'  time  Angele  was  to  marry  Auguste  Doloir,  her 
sister-in-law  Lucile's  brother,  a  big  strapping  fellow,  follow- 
ing, like  his  father,  the  calling  of  a  mason,  and  the  girl 
already  indulged  in  ambitious  dreams  for  him,  some  start  in 
business  on  his  own  account  when  she  should  be  beside  him 
to  guide  his  steps. 

In  response  to  her  father's  words  she  quietly  remarked: 
'  Well,  for  my  part  I  much  prefer  to  know  things.  One  can 
never  succeed  unless  one  does.  Everybody  deceives  and 
robs  one.  .  .  .  You  yourself,  mamma,  would  have 
given  three  sous  too  many  to  the  tinker  yesterday  if  I  had 
not  run  through  his  bill.' 

They  all  jogged  their  heads;  and  then  Marc,  in  a 
thoughtful  mood,  resumed  his  walk.  That  farmyard, 
where  he  had  just  lingered  for  a  few  minutes,  had  not 
changed  since  the  now  far-distant  day  of  Simon's  arrest, 
when  he  had  entered  it  seeking  for  favourable  evidence. 
The  Bongards  had  remained  the  same,  full  of  crass,  sus- 
picious, silent  ignorance,  like  poor  beings  scarce  raised  from 
the  soil,  who  ever  trembled  lest  they  should  be  devoured 
by  others  bigger  and  stronger  than  themselves.  And  the 
only  new  element  was  that  supplied  by  the  children,  whose 
progress,  however,  was  of  the  slightest;  for  if  they  knew  a 
little  more  than  their  parents  they  had  been  weakened  by 
the  incompleteness  of  their  education,  and  had  fallen  into 
other  imbecilities.  Yet,  after  all,  they  had  taken  a  step 
forward,  and  the  slightest  step  forward  on  mankind's  long 
road  must  tend  to  hope. 

A  few  days  later  Marc  repaired  to  Doloir's,  in  order  to 
speak  to  him  of  an  idea  which  he  had  at  heart.  Auguste 
and  Charles,  the  mason's  elder  sons,  had  formerly  belonged 


344  TRUTH 

to  his  school,  and  their  younger  brother,  Le'on,1  had  lately 
achieved  great  success  there,  having  won  his  certificate 
already  in  his  twelfth  year.  For  that  very  reason,  however, 
he  was  about  to  quit  the  school,  and  his  departure  worried 
Marc,  for,  desirous  as  the  latter  was  of  securing  good  recruits 
for  the  elementary  education  staff,  of  which  Salvan  spoke  to 
him  at  times  so  anxiously,  he  dreamt  of  making  the  lad  a 
schoolmaster. 

On  reaching  the  flat  over  the  wineshop  in  the  Rue  Plaisir, 
where  the  mason  still  dwelt,  Marc  found  Madame  Doloir 
alone  for  the  moment  with  Le'on,  though  the  men  would 
soon  be  home  from  work.  She  listened  to  the  schoolmaster 
very  attentively  in  her  serious  and  somewhat  narrow-minded 
way,  like  a  good  housewife  who  only  thought  of  the  family 
interests;  and  then  she  answered  :  'Oh,  Monsieur  Froment, 
I  don't  think  it  possible.  We  shall  have  need  of  Le'on: 
we  mean  to  apprentice  him  at  once.  Where  could  we  find 
the  money  to  enable  him  to  continue  his  studies  ?  Things 
like  that  cost  too  much  even  when  they  cost  nothing."  And 
turning  to  the  boy  she  added  :  'Isn't  that  so  ?  A  carpenter's 
trade  suits  you  best.  My  own  father  was  a  carpenter.' 

But  Leon,  whose  eyes  glittered,  was  bold  enough  to  de- 
clare his  preference.  '  Oh  no,  mamma/  said  he,  'I  should 
be  so  pleased  if  I  could  continue  learning.' 

Marc  was  backing  up  the  boy  when  Doloir  came  in,  ac- 
companied by  his  elder  sons.  Auguste  worked  for  the  same 
master  as  his  father,  and  on  their  way  home  they  had  called 
for  Charles,  who  was  employed  by  a  neighbouring  lock- 
smith. On  learning  what  was  afoot  Doloir  quickly  sided 
with  his  wife,  who  was  regarded  as  the  clever  one  of  the 
home,  the  maintainer  of  sound  traditions.  True,  she  was 
an  honest  and  a  worthy  woman,  but  one  who  clung  stub- 
bornly to  routine  and  who  showed  much  narrow  egotism. 
And  her  husband,  though  he  put  on  airs  of  bravado,  like 
an  old  soldier  whose  ideas  had  been  broadened  by  regimen- 
tal life,  invariably  bowed  to  her  decisions. 


1  In  the  author's  proofs  of  the  earlier  part  of  VMU>  Doloir  the  mason 
is  said  to  have  a  young  son  named  Leon  ;  Savin,  the  clerk,  having  one 
called  Jules  (see  ante,  p.  60).  Some  confusion  seems  to  have  arisen 
subsequently  in  M.  Zola's  mind  with  respect  to  these  boys,  for  in  later 
passages  of  the  French  original  the  name  of  Jules  is  given  to  Doloir's 
child,  and  that  of  Leon  to  Savin's.  This  error  would  undoubtedly  have 
been  rectified  but  for  M.  Zola's  sudden  death.  In  the  present  transla- 
tion Jules  has  been  changed  to  Leon,  and  Leon  to  Jules,  wherever 
necessary.  —  Trans. 


TRUTH  345 

'No,  no,  Monsieur  Froment,'  he  said,  'I  don't  think  it 
possible.' 

'  Come,  let  us  reason  a  little, '  Marc  answered  patiently ; 
'  I  will  undertake  to  prepare  Leon  for  the  Training  School. 
There  we  shall  obtain  a  scholarship  for  him ;  so  it  will  cost 
you  absolutely  nothing.' 

4  But  what  of  his  food  all  that  time  ? '  the  mother  asked. 

'  Well,  just  one  more  when  there  are  several  at  table  does 
not  mean  a  great  expense.  .  .  .  One  may  well  risk  a 
little  for  a  child  when  he  gives  one  such  bright  hopes.' 

At  this  the  two  elder  brothers  began  to  laugh,  like  good- 
natured  fellows  who  felt  amused  by  the  proud  yet  anxious 
bearing  of  their  junior. 

'  I  say,  youngster,  so  you  are  to  be  the  great  man  of  the 
family,  eh  ? '  exclaimed  Auguste.  '  But  don't  put  on  too 
much  side,  for  we  won  our  certificates  also.  That  sufficed 
for  us;  we  had  enough  and  to  spare  of  all  the  things  that 
one  finds  in  books.  .  .  .  For  my  own  part  I  much 
prefer  to  temper  my  mortar. '  And,  addressing  the  school- 
master, Auguste  continued  gaily:  'Ah!  did  n't  I  worry  you, 
Monsieur  Froment!  I  could  never  keep  still;  there  were 
days,  I  remember,  when  I  revolutionised  the  whole  class. 
Fortunately  Charles  was  a  little  more  reasonable.' 

'  No  doubt, '  said  Charles,  smiling  in  his  turn,  '  only  I 
always  ended  by  following  you,  for  I  did  n't  wish  to  be 
thought  timid  or  stupid.' 

'  Stupid!  no,  no,"  responded  Auguste  by  way  of  conclu- 
sion: '  we  were  only  wrong-headed  and  idle.  .  .  .  And 
nowadays  we  offer  you  every  apology,  Monsieur  Froment. 
And  I  agree  with  you :  I  think  that  if  L£on  has  a  taste  that 
way  he  ought  to  be  helped  on.  Dash  it  all!  one  must  be 
on  the  side  of  progress! ' 

Those  words  gave  much  pleasure  to  Marc,  who  thought 
it  as  well  to  rest  content  with  them  that  day,  and  to  postpone 
the  task  of  finally  prevailing  over  the  parents.  However, 
continuing  his  conversation  with  Auguste  for  a  moment,  he 
told  him  that  he  had  lately  seen  his  betrothed,  Angele  Bon- 
gard,  a  shrewd  little  person  who  seemed  determined  to  make 
her  way  in  life.  Then,  seeing  the  young  man  laugh  again 
and  look  very  much  flattered,  Marc  thought  of  pursuing  his 
investigations  and  ascertaining  what  might  be  the  views  of 
his  former  pupil  on  the  question  which  interested  him  so 
deeply. 

'I  also  saw  Fernand  Bongard,  your  brother-in-law,'  he 


346  TRUTH 

said  ;     '  you    remember    when    he    was    at    school    with 
you ' 

The  brothers  again  became  hilarious.  '  Fernand  ?  Oh ! 
he  had  a  hard  nut  and  no  mistake, '  said  Auguste. 

'  Yes,  and  do  you  know,  in  that  unfortunate  Simon 
affair,  Fernand  believes  that  a  treasure  of  five  millions  of 
francs,  given  by  the  Jews,  is  hidden  away  somewhere  in 
readiness  for  the  unhappy  prisoner  whenever  one  may  suc- 
ceed in  bringing  him  back  from  the  galleys,  and  setting  a 
Brother  of  the  Christian  Doctrine  in  his  place. ' 

As  these  words  fell  from  Marc's  lips  Madame  Doloir  be- 
came very  grave,  drawing  her  little  figure  together,  and  then 
remaining  motionless ;  while  her  husband  on  his  side  made 
a  gesture  of  annoyance,  and  muttered  between  his  teeth: 
'  That 's  another  matter  which  my  wife  rightly  enough  does 
not  wish  us  to  meddle  with.' 

But  Auguste,  who  seemed  very  much  amused,  exclaimed: 
'Yes,  I  know,  the  story  of  the  treasure  which  appeared  in 
Le  Petit  Beaumontais.  I  'm  not  surprised  at  Fernand  swal- 
lowing that  yarn.  .  .  .  Five  millions  hidden  in  the 
ground — it 's  nonsense! ' 

At  this  his  father  looked  vexed,  and  emerged  from  his  re- 
serve. 'A  treasure,'  said  he,  'why  not?  You  are  not  so 
clever  as  you  fancy,  youngster.  You  don't  know  what  the 
Jews  are  capable  of.  I  knew  a  corporal  in  my  regiment, 
who  had  been  a  servant  to  a  Jewish  banker.  Well,  every 
Saturday  he  saw  that  banker  send  casks  full  of  gold  to  Ger- 
many— all  the  gold  of  France,  as  he  used  to  say.  .  .  . 
We  are  sold,  that 's  quite  certain.' 

But  Auguste,  who  never  showed  any  great  respect  for 
anybody,  retorted:  'Ah!  no,  father,  you  must  not  dish  up 
the  old  stories  of  your  regiment.     I  've  just  come  back  from 
barracks,   you   know;    and  it  's  all  too  stupid. 
You  '11  soon  see  that  for  yourself,  my  poor  Charles.' 

Auguste,  indeed,  had  lately  finished  his  term  of  military 
service,  and  Charles  in  his  turn  would  have  to  join  the 
colours  in  October. 

'And  for  my  part,'  Auguste  continued,  '  I  can't  swallow 
that  absurd  yarn  of  five  millions  buried  at  the  foot  of  a  tree, 
and  waiting  to  be  dug  up  on  some  moonlight  night. 
At  the  same  time  that  does  not  prevent  me  from  thinking 
that  one  would  do  well  to  leave  that  man  Simon  yonder, 
without  troubling  one's  brains  any  more  about  his  inno- 
cence.' 


TRUTH  347 

Marc,  who  had  felt  pleased  by  the  intelligent  things  said 
by  his  former  pupil,  was  painfully  surprised  by  that  sudden 
conclusion.  '  How  is  that  ? '  he  inquired.  '  If  Simon  is 
innocent,  just  think  of  the  torture  he  has  undergone!  We 
should  never  be  able  to  offer  him  sufficient  reparation. ' 

'Oh!  innocent — that  remains  to  be  proved.  Though  I 
often  read  what  is  printed,  my  mind  only  gets  the  more 
fogged  by  it.' 

'  That  is  because  you  only  read  falsehoods, '  said  Marc. 
4  Remember,  it  is  now  known  that  the  copy-slip  came  from 
the  Brothers'  school.  The  corner  which  was  torn  off,  and 
which  was  found  at  Father  Philibin's,  is  the  proof  of  it;  and 
the  ridiculous  blunder  which  the  experts  made  is  demon- 
strated, for  the  paraph  is  certainly  in  the  handwriting  of 
Brother  Gorgias. ' 

'Ah!  I  don't  know  all  that,'  Auguste  answered.  '  How 
can  I  read  everything  that  is  printed  ?  As  I  said  just  now, 
the  more  people  try  to  explain  the  affair  to  me,  the  less  I 
understand  of  it.  But,  after  all,  as  the  experts  and  the 
Court  formerly  ascribed  the  copy- slip  to  the  prisoner,  the 
simplest  thing  is  to  believe  that  it  was  really  his.' 

From  that  opinion  Auguste  would  not  retreat  in  spite  of 
all  the  efforts  of  Marc,  who,  after  imagining  for  a  moment 
that  the  young  fellow  possessed  a  free  mind,  was  pained  to 
discover  that  he  had  such  narrow  views,  and  such  a  faint 
perception  of  truth. 

'  Well,  that  is  sufficient, '  at  last  said  Madame  Doloir,  in 
the  authoritative  manner  of  a  prudent  woman.  'You  must 
excuse  me,  Monsieur  Froment,  if  I  ask  you  to  talk  no  more 
of  that  affair  here.  You  do  as  you  please  on  your  side,  and 
I  have  nothing  to  say  against  it.  Only,  for  poor  folk  like 
ourselves  it  is  best  that  we  should  not  meddle  with  what 
does  not  concern  us.' 

'  But  it  would  concern  you,  madame,  if  one  of  your  sons 
should  be  taken  and  sent  to  the  galleys  in  spite  of  his  inno- 
cence. And  we  are  fighting,  remember,  to  prevent  such 
monstrous  injustice  from  ever  being  repeated.' 

'  Perhaps  so,  Monsieur  Froment;  but  one  of  my  sons 
won't  be  taken,  for,  as  it  happens,  I  try  to  get  on  well  with 
everybody,  even  the  priests.  The  priests  are  very  strong, 
you  see,  and  I  would  rather  not  have  them  after  me. ' 

Thereupon  Doloir  was  moved  to  intervene  in  a  patriotic 
way:  'Oh!  I  don't  care  a  curse  about  the  priests,'  he 
exclaimed.  'It  's  a  question  of  defending  the  country, 


348  TRUTH 

and  the  Government   allows  us  to  be  humiliated  by  the 
English!  ' 

'  You  also  will  please  to  keep  quiet,'  his  wife  immediately 
retorted.  '  It  is  best  to  leave  both  the  Government  and  the 
priests  alone.  Let  's  try  to  get  bread  to  eat — that  will  be 
far  better. ' 

Then  Doloir  had  to  bend  his  head  in  spite  of  the  circum- 
stance that  among  his  mates  he  posed  as  being  a  Socialist, 
though  he  hardly  knew  the  meaning  of  the  word.  As  for 
Auguste  and  Charles,  though  they  belonged  to  a  better- 
taught  generation,  they  sided  with  their  mother,  almost 
spoilt  as  they  were  by  their  ill-digested  semi-education,  too 
ignorant  as  yet  to  recognise  the  law  of  human  solidarity 
which  demands  that  the  happiness  of  each  should  be  com- 
pounded of  the  happiness  of  all.  Only  little  L£on,  with  his 
ardent  thirst  for  knowledge,  remained  impassioned,  full  of 
anxiety  also  as  to  the  turn  which  things  were  taking. 

Marc,  who  was  sorely  grieved,  felt  that  further  discussion 
would  be  useless.  So,  taking  his  departure,  he  contented 
himself  with  saying:  '  Well,  madame,  I  will  see  you  again, 
and  I  hope  to  persuade  you  to  allow  L£on  to  continue  his 
studies  so  that  he  may  become  a  schoolmaster. ' 

'Quite  so,  Monsieur  Froment,'  the  mother  answered; 
'  but  remember  it  must  not  cost  us  a  sou,  for  in  any  case  we 
shall  be  sadly  out  of  pocket.' 

Some  bitter  thoughts  came  over  Marc  as  he  returned 
home.  As  in  the  case  of  the  Bongards  he  was  reminded 
of  the  visit  he  had  made  to  the  Doloirs  on  the  day  of  Simon's 
arrest.  Those  sorry  folk,  who  were  condemned  to  a  life  of 
excessive  toil  and  who  imagined  they  defended  themselves 
by  remaining  in  darkness  and  taking  no  interest  in  what 
went  on  around  them,  had  in  no  way  changed.  They  were 
determined  that  they  would  know  nothing,  for  fear  lest 
knowledge  should  bring  them  increase  of  wretchedness. 
The  sons,  no  doubt,  were  rather  more  enlightened  than  the 
parents,  but  not  enough  to  engage  in  any  work  of  truth. 
And  if  they  had  begun  to  reason,  and  no  longer  believed  in 
idiotic  fables,  how  much  ground  there  still  remained  for 
their  children  to  cover  before  their  minds  should  be  freed 
completely  from  error!  It  was  grievous  indeed  that  the 
march  of  progress  should  be  so  slow;  and  yet  it  was  neces- 
sary to  remain  content,  if  one  desired  to  retain  enough  cour- 
age to  pursue  the  arduous  task  of  teaching  and  delivering 
the  humble. 


TRUTH  349 

On  another  occasion,  a  little  later,  Marc  happened  to 
meet  Savin  the  clerk,  with  whom  he  had  had  some  unpleas- 
ant quarrels  at  the  time  when  that  embittered  man's  twin 
sons,  Achille  and  Philippe,  had  attended  the  school. 
Savin  had  then  thought  it  good  policy  to  serve  the  Church, 
although  he  publicly  pretended  to  have  nothing  to  do  with 
it,  for  he  was  continually  dreading  lest  he  should  offend  his 
superiors.  However,  two  catastrophes,  which  fell  upon 
him  in  rapid  succession,  steeped  him  in  irremediable  bitter- 
ness. First  of  all,  things  took  a  very  bad  turn  with  his  pretty 
daughter,  Hortense  —  that  model  pupil,  in  whose  ardent 
fervour  at  her  first  Communion  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  had 
gloried,  but  who  in  reality  was  full  of  precocious  hypocrisy. 
Savin,  recognising  the  girl's  beauty,  had  dreamt  of  marrying 
her  to  the  son  of  one  of  his  superiors,  but,  instead  of  that, 
he  was  compelled  to  marry  her  to  a  milkman's  assistant, 
who  led  her  astray.  Then,  to  complete  the  clerk's  mortifi- 
cation and  despair,  he  discovered  that  his  wife,  the  refined 
and  tender-hearted  Marguerite,  had  become  unfaithful  to 
him.  In  spite  of  her  repugnance  he  had  long  compelled 
her  to  go  to  confession  and  Communion,  holding  that  re- 
ligion was  a  needful  curb  for  feminine  depravity ;  but,  as  it 
happened,  her  frequent  attendance  at  the  chapel  of  the 
Capuchins,  whose  superior,  Father  The'odose,  was  her  con- 
fessor, led  to  her  downfall,  for  that  same  holy  man  became 
her  lover.  The  facts  were  never  exactly  known,  for  no 
scandal  was  raised  by  Savin,  who,  however  great  his  rage, 
was  overcome  by  the  irony  of  things.  It  was  he  himself, 
indeed,  who,  by  his  imbecile  jealousy,  had  turned  his  pre- 
viously faithful  wife  into  the  path  of  infidelity.  But  if  he 
raised  no  great  outcry,  people  declared  that  he  revenged 
himself  terribly  on  the  unhappy  woman  in  the  abominable 
hell  which  their  home  had  now  become. 

Having  cause  to  hate  the  priests  and  the  monks,  Savin 
had  drawn  a  trifle  nearer  to  Marc.  On  the  day  when  they 
met  in  the  street  the  clerk  had  just  quitted  his  office,  and 
was  walking  along  with  a  sour  and  sleepy  face,  like  some 
old  circus  horse  half  stupefied  by  his  never-varying  round 
of  duties.  On  perceiving  the  schoolmaster  he  seemed  to 
wake  up:  'Ah!  I  am  pleased  to  meet  you,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment,'  he  said.  '  It  would  be  very  kind  of  you  to  come  as 
far  as  my  rooms,  for  my  son  Philippe  is  causing  me  great 
anxiety  by  his  idleness,  and  you  are  the  only  person  who 
knows  how  to  lecture  him.' 


350  TRUTH 

'Willingly,'  replied  Marc,  who  was  always  desirous  of 
seeing  and  judging  things. 

On  reaching  the  dismal  little  lodging  in  the  Rue  Fauche 
they  found  Madame  Savin — who  still  looked  charming  in 
spite  of  her  four-  and-  forty  years — engaged  on  some  bead 
flowers  which  had  to  be  delivered  that  same  evening. 
Since  his  misfortune  the  clerk  was  no  longer  ashamed  of 
letting  people  see  his  wife  toil  as  if  she  were  a  mere  work- 
woman. Perhaps,  indeed,  he  hoped  it  would  be  thought 
that  she  was  expiating  her  transgression.  In  former  times 
he  had  evinced  much  pride  in  her  when  she  went  out  wear- 
ing a  lady's  bonnet,  but  now  she  might  well  put  on  an  apron 
and  contribute  to  the  support  of  the  family.  He  himself 
also  neglected  his  appearance,  and  had  given  up  wearing 
frock  coats. 

No  sooner  did  he  enter  the  flat  than  he  became  brutal: 
'You  've  taken  possession  of  the  whole  room  as  usual!' 
he  shouted.  '  Where  can  I  ask  Monsieur  Froment  to  sit 
down  ? ' 

Gentle,  timid,  and  somewhat  red  of  face,  his  wife  hast- 
ened to  gather  up  her  reels  and  boxes.  '  But  when  I  work, 
my  friend,'  she  said,  '  I  need  some  room.  Besides,  I  did 
not  expect  you  home  so  soon.' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  know,  you  never  expect  me  !  " 

Those  words,  in  which,  perhaps,  there  was  some  cruel 
allusion  to  what  had  happened,  quite  upset  the  unfortunate 
woman.  One  thing  which  her  husband  did  not  forgive  her 
was  her  lover's  handsomeness,  particularly  as  he  knew  that 
he  himself  was  so  puny  and  sickly;  and  nothing  enraged 
himself  more  than  to  read  his  wife's  excuse  in  her  clear 
eyes.  However,  she  now  bent  her  head,  and  made  herself 
as  small  as  possible,  while  she  resumed  her  work. 

'Sit  down,  Monsieur  Froment,'  said  Savin.  'As  I  was 
telling  you  just  now,  that  big  fellow  yonder  drives  me  to 
despair.  He  is  now  nearly  two-  and-  twenty,  he  has  already 
tried  two  or  three  trades,  and  all  he  seems  to  be  good  for  is 
to  watch  his  mother  work  and  pass  her  the  beads  she  may 
require. ' 

Young  Philippe,  indeed,  was  sitting  in  a  corner  of  the 
room,  silent  and  motionless,  like  one  who  strove  to  keep  in 
the  background.  Madame  Savin,  amidst  her  humiliation, 
had  given  him  a  tender  glance,  to  which  he  had  responded 
by  a  slight  smile  as  if  by  way  of  consolation.  One  could 
detect  that  he  and  his  mother  were  linked  together  by  some 


TRUTH  351 

bond  of  suffering.  Pale,  and  of  poor  health,  the  sly, 
cowardly,  and  mendacious  schoolboy  of  former  times  had 
become  a  sorry  young  fellow,  quite  destitute,  it  seemed,  of 
energy,  who  sought  a  refuge  in  his  mother's  kindness  of 
heart;  she,  still  so  young  in  appearance,  looking  like  an 
elder  sister,  one  who  also  suffered,  and  who  therefore 
sympathised  with  him. 

'  Why  did  you  not  listen  to  me  ?  '  Marc  exclaimed  in 
answer  to  the  clerk ;  '  we  would  have  made  a  schoolmaster 
of  him.' 

But  Savin  protested:  'Ah!  no,  indeed.  Rather  than 
that  I  prefer  to  have  him  on  my  hands.  To  cram  one's 
brains  at  school  till  one  is  over  twenty,  then  start  at  a  paltry 
salary  of  sixty  francs  a  month,  and  work  for  more  than  ten 
years  before  earning  a  hundred — do  you  call  that  a  profes- 
sion ?  A  schoolmaster,  indeed!  Nobody  cares  to  become 
one  nowadays;  even  the  poorest  peasants  would  rather 
break  stones  on  the  highways! ' 

4  But  I  thought  I  had  persuaded  you  to  let  your  son  Jules 
enter  the  Training  College  ? '  Marc  rejoined.  '  Don't  you 
intend  to  make  him  an  elementary  teacher  ? ' 

'  Oh,  dear,  no.  I  've  put  him  with  an  artificial-manure 
merchant.  He  's  barely  sixteen,  and  he  is  already  earning 
twenty  francs  a  month.  He  will  thank  me  for  it  later  on.' 

Marc  made  a  gesture  expressive  of  his  regret.  He  re- 
membered having  seen  Jules  as  a  babe  in  swaddling  clothes 
in  his  mother's  arms.  Later,  the  lad,  from  his  seventh  to 
his  fourteenth  year,  had  become  one  of  his  pupils — a  pupil 
who  evinced  much  higher  intelligence  than  his  elder  brothers, 
and  who  inspired  great  hopes.  Like  the  master,  Madame 
Savin,  no  doubt,  was  worried  that  her  youngest  boy's  studies 
had  been  cut  short  by  his  father;  for,  again  raising  her 
beautiful  eyes,  she  glanced  at  Marc  furtively  and  sadly. 

'  Come,'  said  her  husband  to  the  latter,  '  what  advice  can 
you  give  me  ?  And  first  of  all  can't  you  make  that  big 
idler  feel  ashamed  of  his  sloth  ?  As  you  were  his  master, 
perhaps  he  will  listen  to  you.' 

At  that  moment,  however,  Achille,  the  other  son,  came 
in,  returning  from  the  process-server's  office  where  he  was 
now  employed.  He  had  made  a  start  there  as  an  errand 
boy  when  he  was  fifteen,  and  though  nearly  seven  years 
had  elapsed  he  did  not  yet  earn  enough  to  keep  himself. 
Paler  and  of  even  poorer  blood  than  his  brother  Philippe, 
he  had  remained  a  beardless  stripling,  sly,  pusillanimous, 


352  TRUTH 

and  distrustful  as  in  his  school-days,  ever  ready  to  denounce 
a  comrade  in  order  to  escape  personal  punishment.  He 
seemed  surprised  on  seeing  his  former  master,  and,  after 
bowing  to  him,  he  said,  doubtless  in  a  spirit  of  malice:  '  I 
don't  know  what  there  can  be  in  Le  Petit  JBeaumontais  to- 
day, but  people  are  almost  fighting  for  copies  at  Mesdames 
Milhomme's.  It  must  certainly  be  something  more  about 
that  beastly  affair. ' 

Marc  already  knew  that  the  paper  contained  a  fresh  recti- 
fication, brimful  of  extraordinary  mendacious  impudence, 
on  the  part  of  Brother  Gorgias;  and  he  decided  to  avail 
himself  of  this  opportunity  to  sound  the  young  men.  'Oh !  ' 
said  he,  '  whatever  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  may  attempt  with 
its  stories  of  buried  millions,  and  its  superb  denials  of  well- 
established  facts,  everybody  is  beginning  to  admit  that 
Simon  is  innocent.' 

At  this  the  twins  shrugged  their  shoulders,  and  Achille  in 
his  drawling  way  replied:  'Oh!  only  imbeciles  believe  in 
those  buried  millions,  and  it 's  true  that  they  are  lying  too 
much :  one  can  see  it.  But  what  does  it  all  matter  to  us  ? ' 

'  Eh  ?  what  does  it  matter  to  you  ? '  the  schoolmaster  ex- 
claimed, surprised  and  failing  to  understand. 

'  Yes,  what  interest  is  there  for  us  in  that  affair  with  which 
we  have  been  plagued  so  long  ? ' 

Then  Marc  gradually  became  impassioned. 

'  My  poor  lads,  I  feel  sorry  for  you, '  he  said ;  '  you  admit 
Simon's  innocence,  do  you  not  ? ' 

'Well — yes.  It  is  by  no  means  clear,  as  yet;  but  when 
one  has  read  things  attentively  it  does  seem  that  he  may  be 
innocent.' 

'  In  that  case,  do  not  your  feelings  rebel  at  the  idea  that 
he  is  in  prison  ?  ' 

'Oh!  it  certainly  isn't  amusing  for  him,'  Achille  ad- 
mitted; 'but  there  are  so  many  other  innocent  people  in 
prison.  Besides,  the  officials  may  release  him  for  all  I 
care.  .  .  .  One  has  quite  enough  worries  of  one's  own, 
so  why  should  one  spoil  one's  life  by  meddling  with  the 
troubles  of  others  ? ' 

Then  Philippe,  in  a  more  gentle  voice,  expressed  his 
opinion,  saying:  '  I  don't  bother  about  that  affair,  for  it 
would  worry  me  too  much.  I  can  understand  that  it  would 
be  one's  duty  to  act  if  one  were  the  master.  But  when  one 
can  do  nothing  whatever,  the  best  way  is  to  ignore  it  all  and 
keep  quiet.' 


TRUTH  353 

In  vain  did  Marc  censure  the  indifference,  the  cowardly 
egotism,  and  desertion  which  those  words  implied.  The 
great  voice,  the  irresistible  will  of  the  people,  said  he,  was 
compounded  of  individual  protests,  the  protests  of  the 
humblest  and  the  weakest.  Nobody  could  claim  exemp- 
tion from  his  duty,  the  action  of  one  single  isolated  in- 
dividual might  suffice  to  modify  destiny.  Besides,  it  was 
not  true  to  say  that  only  one  person's  fate  was  at  stake  in 
the  struggle,  all  the  members  of  the  nation  were  jointly  and 
severally  interested,  for  each  defended  his  own  liberty  by 
protecting  that  of  his  fellow.  And  then  what  a  splendid 
opportunity  it  was  to  accomplish  at  one  stroke  the  work  of 
a  century  of  slow  political  and  social  progress.  On  one 
side  all  the  forces  of  reaction  were  leagued  against  an  un- 
happy, innocent  man  for  the  sole  purpose  of  keeping  the  old 
Catholic  and  monarchical  scaffoldings  erect;  and  on  the 
other,  all  who  were  bent  on  ensuring  the  triumph  of  the 
future,  all  who  believed  in  reason  and  liberty,  had  gathered 
together  from  the  four  points  of  the  compass,  and  united  in 
the  name  of  truth  and  justice.  And  an  effort  on  the  part 
of  the  latter  ought  to  suffice  to  throw  the  former  beneath 
the  remnants  of  those  old,  worm-eaten  scaffoldings  which 
were  cracking  on  all  sides.  The  scope  of  the  affair  had 
expanded:  it  was  no  longer  merely  the  case  of  a  poor  inno- 
cent man  who  had  been  wrongly  convicted;  for  that  man 
had  become  the  incarnation  of  the  martyrdom  of  all  man- 
kind, which  must  be  wrested  from  the  prison  of  the  ages. 
The  release  of  Simon  indeed  would  mean  increase  of  free- 
dom for  the  people  of  France  and  an  acceleration  of  its 
march  towards  more  dignity  and  happiness. 

But  Marc  suddenly  lapsed  into  silence,  for  he  saw  that 
Achille  and  Philippe  were  looking  at  him  in  bewilderment, 
their  weak  eyes  blinking  in  their  pale  and  sickly  faces. 

'Oh!  Monsieur  Froment,  what  's  all  that?  When  you 
put  so  many  things  into  the  affair  we  can't  follow  you, 
that  's  certain.  We  know  nothing  of  those  things,  we  can 
do  nothing.' 

Savin  for  his  part  had  listened,  sneering  and  fidgeting, 
though  unwilling  to  interrupt.  Now,  however,  turning  to 
the  schoolmaster,  he  exploded.  'All  that  is  humbug — ex- 
cuse me  for  saying  so,  Monsieur  Froment.  Simon  innocent 
— well,  that  's  a  matter  on  which  I  have  my  doubts.  I 
don't  conceal  it;  I  'm  of  the  same  opinion  as  formerly,  and 
I  read  nothing;  I  would  rather  let  myself  be  killed  than 


354  TRUTH 

consent  to  swallow  a  line  of  all  the  trash  that  is  published. 
And,  mind,  I  don't  say  that  because  I  like  the  priests. 
The  dirty  beasts — why,  I  wish  a  pestilence  would  sweep 
them  all  away!  Only,  when  there  is  a  religion,  there  is 
one.  It 's  the  same  with  the  army.  The  army  is  the  blood 
of  France.  I  am  a  Republican,  I  am  now  a  Freemason,  I 
will  go  so  far  as  to  say  that  I  am  a  Socialist,  in  the  good 
sense  of  the  word;  but,  before  everything  else,  I  am  a 
Frenchman,  and  I  won't  have  people  setting  their  hands  on 
what  constitutes  the  grandeur  of  my  country.  Simon  then 
is  guilty;  everything  proves  it:  public  sentiment,  the  proofs 
submitted  to  the  Court,  his  condemnation,  and  the  ignoble 
trafficking  carried  on  by  the  Jews  in  order  to  save  him. 
And  if,  by  a  miracle,  he  should  not  be  guilty,  the  mis- 
fortune for  the  country  would  be  too  great;  it  would  be 
absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  be  guilty  all  the 
same.' 

Confronted  by  so  much  blindness,  blended  with  so  much 
folly,  Marc  could  only  bow.  And  he  was  about  to  with- 
draw when  Savin's  daughter  Hortense  made  her  appearance 
with  her  little  girl  Charlotte,  now  nearly  seven  years  of  age. 
Hortense  was  no  longer  the  good-looking  young  person  of 
former  days;  compelled  to  marry  her  seducer,  the  milk- 
man's assistant,  and  lead  with  him  a  hard  and  toilsome  life 
of  poverty,  she  appeared  faded  and  careworn.  Savin, 
moreover,  received  her  without  cordiality,  full  of  spite  as 
he  was,  ashamed  of  that  marriage  which  had  mortified  his 
pride.  Only  the  grace  and  keen  intelligence  of  little  Char- 
lotte assuaged,  in  some  slight  degree,  his  intensely  bitter 
feelings. 

'  Good  -  morning,  grandpapa;  good -morning,  grand- 
mamma,' said  the  child.  '  You  know,  I  have  been  first  in 
reading  again,  and  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  has  given  me 
the  medal.' l 

She  was  a  charming  little  girl,  and  Madame  Savin,  drop- 
ping her  beads  at  once,  took  her  on  her  lap,  kissing  her  and 
feeling  consoled  and  happy.  But  the  child,  turning  towards 
Marc,  with  whom  she  was  well  acquainted,  resumed :  '  You 
know,  I  was  the  first,  Monsieur  Froment.  It 's  fine — is  n't 
it? — to  be  the  first! ' 

1  In  French  elementary  schools  the  child  who  becomes  first  in  his 
or  her  class  is  given  a  medal  which  is  worn  pinned  to  jacket  or  frock. 
Should  the  position  be  lost  the  medal  has  to  be  restored  to  the  teacher, 
who  then  transfers  it  to  the  more  successful  pupil. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  355 

'  Yes,  my  dear, '  said  the  master,  '  it  is  very  nice  to  be 
first.  And  I  know  that  you  are  always  very  good.  Mind, 
you  must  always  listen  to  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  because 
she  will  make  a  very  clever  and  sensible  little  woman  of 
you — one  who  will  be  very  happy  and  who  will  give  a  deal 
of  happiness  to  all  her  family  around  her. ' 

At  this  Savin  again  began  to  growl:  Happiness  to  all  her 
family,  indeed!  Well,  that  would  be  something  new,  for 
neither  the  grandmother  nor  the  mother  had  given  any 
happiness  to  him.  And  if  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  should 
perform  such  a  miracle  as  to  turn  a  girl  into  something 
decent  and  useful,  he  would  go  to  tell  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire  of  it.  Then,  annoyed  at  seeing  his  wife  laugh, 
brightened  as  she  was,  rejuvenated,  so  to  say,  by  the  com- 
panionship of  the  child,  he  bade  her  get  on  with  her  work, 
speaking  in  so  rough  a  voice  that,  as  the  unhappy  woman 
again  lowered  her  head  over  her  bead  flowers,  her  eyes 
filled  with  tears. 

But  Marc  had  now  risen,  and  the  clerk  thereupon 
reverted  to  the  matter  he  had  at  heart:  '  So  you  can  give 
me  no  advice  about  my  big  idler,  Philippe  ?  .  .  .  Don't 
you  think  that,  through  Monsieur  Salvan,  who  is  the  friend 
of  Monsieur  Le  Barazer,  you  might  get  him  some  petty 
situation  at  the  Prefecture  ?  ' 

'  Yes,  certainly,  I  might  try.  I  will  speak  to  Monsieur 
Salvan  about  it,  I  promise  you.' 

Marc  then  withdrew,  and,  on  reaching  the  street,  walked 
slowly,  his  head  bent,  while  he  summed  up  the  results  of 
his  visits  to  the  parents  of  his  former  pupils.  No  doubt  he 
had  found  Achille  and  Philippe  possessed  of  riper  and 
broader  minds  than  Auguste  and  Charles,  the  sons  of  Doloir 
the  mason,  even  as  he  had  found  the  latter  freed  from  the 
low  credulity  of  Fernand,  the  son  of  the  peasant  Bongard. 
But  at  the  Savins'  he  had  once  again  observed  the  blind 
obstinacy  of  the  father,  who  had  learnt  nothing,  forgotten 
nothing,  but  still  lingered  in  the  same  old  rut  of  error; 
whilst  even  the  evolution  of  the  sons  towards  more  reason 
and  logic  remained  a  very  slight  one.  Just  a  little  step 
had  been  taken,  no  more,  and  with  that  Marc  had  to  remain 
content.  He  felt  sad  indeed  when  he  compared  all  his 
efforts  during  a  period  of  nearly  fifteen  years  with  the  little 
amelioration  which  had  resulted  from  them.  And  he  shud- 
dered as  he  thought  of  the  vast  amount  of  labour,  devotion, 
and  faith  which  would  be  required  throughout  the  humble 


TRUTH 

world  of  the  elementary  teachers,  before  they  would  suc- 
ceed in  transforming  the  brutified,  soiled,  enthralled,  lowly 
ones  and  suffering  ones  into  free  and  conscious  men.  Gen- 
erations indeed  would  be  necessary  for  that  to  be  effected. 

The  thought  of  poor  Simon  haunted  Marc  amid  the  grief 
he  felt  at  having  failed  to  raise  a  people  of  truth  and  justice, 
such  as  would  have  the  strength  of  mind  to  rebel  against  the 
old  iniquity  and  repair  it.  The  nation  still  refused  to  be 
the  noble,  generous,  and  equitable  nation,  in  which  he  had 
believed  so  long;  and  both  his  mind  and  his  heart  were 
pained,  for  he  could  not  accustom  himself  to  the  idea  of  a 
France  steeped  in  idiotic  fanaticism.  Then,  however,  a 
bright  vision  flitted  before  his  eyes;  he  again  saw  little 
Charlotte,  so  wide-awake  and  so  delighted  at  being  the  first 
of  her  class,  and  he  began  to  hope  once  more.  The  future 
belonged  to  the  children;  and  might  not  some  of  those 
charming  little  ones  take  giant  steps  when  firm  and  up- 
right minds  should  direct  them  towards  the  light  ? 

However,  as  Marc  drew  near  to  the  school,  another 
meeting  brought  a  pang  to  his  heart.  He  encountered 
Madame  F^rou  carrying  a  bundle — some  work  which  she 
was  taking  home  with  her.  Having  lost  her  eldest  children, 
who  had  succumbed  more  to  want  than  to  disease,  she  now 
lived  with  her  remaining  girl  in  a  frightful  hovel,  where  they 
worked  themselves  almost  to  death,  without  ever  earning 
enough  to  satisfy  their  hunger.  As  she  glided  along  the 
street  with  downcast  eyes,  as  if  ashamed  of  her  poverty, 
Marc  stopped  her.  She  was  no  longer  the  plump  and 
pleasant-looking  blonde,  with  fleshy  lips  and  large,  bright, 
prominent  eyes,  whom  he  had  known  in  past  years,  but  a 
poor,  squat,  careworn  woman,  aged  before  her  time.  'Well, 
Madame  F£rou,'  he  inquired,  'does  the  sewing  prosper  a 
little  ? ' 

She  began  to  stammer,  then  at  last  regained  some  confi- 
dence: 'Oh!  things  never  prosper,  Monsieur  Froment,' she 
said;  '  we  may  tire  our  eyes  out,  but  we  are  lucky  when  we 
manage  to  earn  twenty-five  sous  a  day  between  us.' 

'And  what  about  the  application  for  relief  which  you 
sent  to  the  Prefecture,  as  a  schoolmaster's  widow  ? ' 

'  Oh,  they  never  answered  me,  and  when  I  ventured  to 
call  there  in  person,  I  really  thought  I  should  be  arrested. 
A  big  dark  man  with  a  fine  beard  asked  me  what  I  meant 
by  daring  to  recall  the  memory  of  my  husband,  the  deserter 
and  Anarchist,  who  was  condemned  by  court-martial,  and 


TRUTH  357 

then  shot  like  a  mad  dog.  And  he  frightened  me  so  much 
that  I  still  tremble  when  I  think  of  it.' 

Then,  as  Marc,  who  was  quivering,  remained  silent,  the  un- 
happy woman,  growing  bolder  and  bolder,  resumed:  'Good 
heavens!  My  poor  F£rou  a  mad  dog!  You  knew  him  when 
we  were  at  Le  Moreux.  At  first  he  only  dreamt  of  devotion, 
fraternity,  truth,  and  justice ;  and  it  was  by  dint  of  wretched- 
ness, persecution,  and  iniquity  that  they  ended  by  maddening 
him.  When  he  left  me,  never  to  return,  he  said  to  me: 
"  France  is  done  for;  it  has  been  completely  rotted  by  the 
priests,  poisoned  by  a  filthy  press,  plunged  into  such  a 
morass  of  ignorance  and  credulity  that  one  will  never  be 
able  to  extricate  it!  "  .  .  .  And  you  see,  Monsieur 
Froment,  he  was  right!  ' 

'  No,  no!  He  was  n't  right,  Madame  Fe"rou;  one  must 
never  despair  of  one's  country.' 

But  her  blood  was  now  up,  and  she  retorted:  '  I  tell  you 
that  he  was  right!  Have  n't  you  any  eyes  to  see  ?  Are  not 
affairs  shameful  at  Le  Moreux,  where  that  man  Chagnat, 
the  creature  of  the  priests,  does  nothing  but  debase  and 
stupefy  the  children — to  such  a  point,  indeed,  that  for  years 
past  not  a  single  one  of  them  has  been  able  to  obtain  a 
certificate  of  elementary  studies  ?  And  then  Monsieur 
Jauffre,  your  successor,  does  some  fine  work  at  Joinville  in 
order  to  please  Abb£  Cognasse.  At  the  rate  they  are  all 
going,  France  will  have  forgotten  how  to  read  and  write 
before  ten  years  are  over!  ' 

She  drew  herself  up  as  she  spoke,  and,  consumed  by 
hatred  and  rancour,  the  rancour  of  a  poor  downtrodden 
woman  overcome  by  social  injustice,  she  went  on  to 
prophesy:  'You  hear  me,  Monsieur  Froment.  I  tell  you 
that  France  is  done  for!  Nothing  good  nor  just  will  ever 
come  from  her  again ;  she  will  sink  to  the  level  of  all  those 
dead  nations  on  whom  Catholicism  has  preyed  like  vermin 
and  rottenness! ' 

Then,  still  quivering  with  the  excitement  which  had 
prompted  that  outburst,  and  trembling  at  having  dared  to 
say  so  much,  she  glided  away  with  humble  and  anxious 
mien,  returning  to  the  den  of  suffering  where  her  pale  and 
silent  daughter  awaited  her. 

Marc  remained  confounded;  it  was  as  if  he  had  heard 
F£rou  himself  calling  from  his  grave,  crying  aloud  the  bitter 
pessimism,  the  savage  protest,  dictated  by  the  cruel  suffer- 
ings of  his  life.  And,  making  all  allowance  for  rancorous 


358  TRUTH 

exaggeration,  there  was  great  truth  in  the  widow's  words. 
Chagnat,  indeed,  was  still  brutifying  Le  Moreux,  and  Jauf- 
fre,  under  the  stubborn  and  narrow-minded  sway  of  Abb6 
Cognasse,  was  completing  his  deadly  work  at  Joinville,  in 
spite  of  the  covert  rage  he  experienced  at  finding  that  his 
services  remained  so  long  unrecognised,  when,  by  rights, 
he  ought  to  have  been  appointed  at  once  to  the  headmas- 
tership  of  a  school  at  Beaumont.  And  the  great  work  of 
elementary  education  scarcely  made  more  progress  in  any 
part  of  the  region.  Nearly  all  the  schools  of  Beaumont 
were  still  in  the  power  of  timid  masters  and  mistresses 
who,  thinking  of  their  advancement,  wished  to  remain  on 
good  terms  with  the  Church.  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire 
achieved  great  success  by  her  devout  zeal,  while  Doutre- 
quin,  that  Republican  of  the  early  days,  whom  patriotic 
alarm  had  gradually  cast  into  reaction,  remained,  though 
he  was  now  on  the  retired  list,  a  personage  of  great  influ- 
ence, one  whose  lofty  character  was  cited  to  newcomers  by 
way  of  example.  How  could  young  teachers  believe  in 
the  innocence  of  Simon,  and  fight  against  the  Congrega- 
tional schools,  when  such  a  man,  a  combatant  of  1870,  a 
friend  of  the  founder  of  the  Republic,  set  himself  on  the 
side  of  the  Congregations  in  the  name  of  the  country 
threatened  by  the  Jews  ?  For  one  Mademoiselle  Mazeline, 
who  ever  firmly  inculcated  sense  and  kindliness,  for  one 
Mignot,  won  by  example  to  the  good  cause,  how  many 
cowards  and  traitors  there  were,  and  how  very  slowly  did 
the  teaching  staff  progress  in  breadth  of  mind,  generosity, 
and  devotion,  in  spite  of  the  reinforcements  which  came  to 
it  every  year  from  the  training  schools!  Yet  Salvan  per- 
severed in  his  work  of  regeneration,  full  of  ardent  faith, 
convinced  that  the  humble  schoolmaster  alone  would  save 
the  country  from  being  annihilated  by  the  Clericals,  when 
he  himself  should  at  last  possess  a  free  mind  and  the 
capacity  to  teach  truth  and  justice.  As  Salvan  ever  re- 
peated, the  worth  of  the  nation  depended  on  the  worth  of 
the  schoolmasters.  And  if  the  march  of  progress  was  so 
slow,  it  was  because  the  work  of  evolution  by  which  good 
masters  might  be  produced  had  to  be  spread  over  several 
generations,  even  as  several  generations  of  pupils  would  be 
needed  before  a  just  nation,  freed  from  error  and  falsehood, 
could  spring  into  being. 

Having  reached  that  conclusion  as  the  result  of  his  in- 
quiries and  the  despairing  call  which  seemed  to  have  come 


TRUTH  359 

to  him  from  Fe'rou's  grave,  Marc  only  retained  a  feverish 
eagerness  to  continue  the  battle  and  increase  his  efforts. 
For  some  time  past  he  had  been  busying  himself  with  what 
were  called  '  after-school '  enterprises,  established  in  order 
to  maintain  a  link  between  the  masters  and  their  former 
pupils,  whom  the  laws  took  from  them  at  thirteen  years  of 
age.  Friendly  societies  were  being  founded  on  all  sides, 
and  some  of  the  organisers  dreamt  of  federating  all  those 
of  the  same  arrondissement,  then  those  of  the  same  depart- 
ment, and  finally  all  similar  societies  in  France.  Moreover, 
there  were  patronage  societies,  mutual  relief  and  pension 
funds;  but  Marc,  with  the  object  he  had  in  view,  attached 
most  importance  to  the  classes  for  adults  which  he  held  of 
an  evening  at  his  school.  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  on  her 
side  also,  had  set  an  excellent  example  and  won  very  great 
success  by  giving  occasional  evening  lessons  in  cookery, 
family  hygiene,  and  home  nursing  to  those  of  her  former 
pupils  who  were  now  big  girls.  And  such  numbers  of 
young  people  applied  to  her  that  she  ended  by  sacrificing 
her  Sunday  afternoons  in  order  to  instruct  those  who  could 
not  conveniently  attend  of  an  evening.  It  made  her  so 
happy,  she  said,  to  help  her  girls  to  become  good  wives  and 
mothers,  able  to  keep  house  and  shed  gaiety,  health,  and 
happiness  around  them. 

Marc,  in  the  same  way,  opened  his  school  on  three  eve- 
nings every  week,  summoned  back  the  boys  who  had  left 
him,  and  endeavoured  to  complete  their  education  with 
respect  to  all  the  practical  questions  of  life.  He  sowed 
good  seed  in  those  young  brains  unsparingly,  saying  to 
himself  that  he  would  be  well  rewarded  for  his  pains  if  but 
one  grain  out  of  every  hundred  should  germinate  and  bear 
fruit.  And  he  interested  himself  particularly  in  the  few 
pupils  whom  he  induced  to  enter  the  teaching  profession, 
keeping  them  near  him,  and  preparing  them  right  zealously 
for  the  preliminary  examinations  at  the  Training  College. 
On  his  side,  indeed,  he  devoted  his  Sunday  afternoons  to 
those  private  lessons,  and  when  evening  came  he  was  as 
delighted  as  if  he  had  been  indulging  in  the  greatest  amuse- 
ment. 

One  of  Marc's  victories  at  this  juncture  was  to  prevail  on 
Madame  Doloir  to  allow  him  to  continue  educating  little 
L£on,  in  order  that  the  boy  might  enter  the  Training  Col- 
lege in  due  course.  The  dearest  of  all  Marc's  former 
pupils,  S^bastien  Milhomme,  was  there  already;  and  Sebas- 


360  TRUTH 

tien's  mother,  Madame  Alexandra,  had  on  her  side  returned 
to  the  stationery  shop,  though  she  discreetly  remained  in 
the  background,  for  fear  lest  she  might  scare  away  the 
clerical  customers.  And  Salvan,  like  Marc,  had  now  be- 
come very  much  attached  to  Se"bastien,  regarding  him  as 
one  of  those  future  missionaries  of  good  tidings,  whom  he 
desired  to  disseminate  through  the  country  districts.  Re- 
cently also,  at  the  beginning  of  a  new  term,  Marc  had 
experienced  the  satisfaction  of  confiding  to  his  old  friend 
yet  another  pupil,  none  other  than  Joseph  Simon,  the  inno- 
cent man's  son,  who,  in  spite  of  every  painful  obstacle,  had 
resolved  to  become  a  schoolmaster  like  his  father,  hoping 
to  conquer  on  the  very  field  where  the  dear  stricken  pris- 
oner had  fought  with  so  tragical  a  result.  Thus  Sebastien 
and  Joseph  had  met  again,  each  inspired  with  the  same 
zeal,  the  same  faith,  their  old  bond  of  friendship  tightened 
by  yet  closer  sympathy  than  before.  And  what  pleasant 
hours  they  spent  whenever  an  afternoon's  holiday  enabled 
them  to  go  to  Maillebois,  together,  to  shake  hands  with 
their  former  master! 

While  things  were  thus  slowly  moving,  Marc,  with  re- 
spect to  his  home  troubles,  remained  in  suspense,  one  day 
despairing  and  the  morrow  reviving  to  hope.  In  vain  had 
he  relied  on  Genevieve  returning  to  him,  enlightened  at  last 
and  saved  from  the  poison ;  at  present  he  set  his  only  con- 
solation in  the  quiet  firmness  of  his  daughter  Louise.  She, 
as  she  had  promised  to  do,  came  to  see  him  every  Thursday 
and  Sunday,  invariably  gay  and  full  of  gentle  resolution. 
He  dared  not  question  her  about  her  mother,  respecting 
whom  she  seldom  volunteered  any  information,  for  having 
no  good  news  to  give  she  doubtless  regarded  the  subject 
as  painful.  Louise  would  now  soon  be  sixteen,  and  with 
increase  of  age  she  became  the  better  able  to  understand 
the  cause  of  their  sufferings.  She  would  have  been  pleased 
indeed  could  she  have  become  the  mediator,  the  healer,  the 
one  to  place  the  parents  she  loved  so  well  in  each  other's 
arms  once  more.  On  the  days  when  she  detected  extreme 
impatient  anguish  in  her  father's  glance,  she  referred  dis- 
creetly to  the  frightful  situation  which  haunted  them. 

'  Mamma  is  still  very  poorly, '  she  would  say ;  '  it  is  neces- 
sary to  be  very  careful,  and  I  dare  not  as  yet  talk  to  her  as 
to  a  friend.  But  I  have  hopes.  There  are  times  when  she 
takes  me  in  her  arms,  and  presses  me  to  her  so  tightly  that 
I  nearly  suffocate,  while  her  eyes  fill  with  tears.  At  other 


TRUTH  361 

times,  it  is  true,  she  becomes  harsh  and  unjust — accuses  me 
of  not  loving  her — complains,  indeed,  that  nobody  has  ever 
loved  her.  .  .  .  You  see,  father,  one  must  be  very  kind 
to  her,  for  she  must  suffer  frightfully,  thinking  as  she  does 
that  she  will  never  more  be  able  to  content  her  heart.' 

Then  Marc,  in  his  excitement,  cried:  '  But  why  does  she 
not  come  back  here  ?  I  still  love  her  to  distraction,  and  if 
she  still  loved  me,  we  might  be  so  happy.' 

But  Louise,  in  a  sorrowful,  gentle,  caressing  way,  placed 
her  hand  over  his  mouth:  '  No,  no,  papa,  do  not  let  us  talk 
of  that !  I  did  wrong  to  begin — it  can  only  make  us  grieve 
the  more.  We  must  wait.  ...  I  am  now  beside 
mamma;  and  some  day  she  will  surely  see  that  only  we  two 
love  her.  She  will  listen  to  me  and  follow  me.' 

At  other  times  the  girl  arrived  at  her  father's  with  glitter- 
ing eyes  and  a  determined  bearing,  as  if  she  had  just 
emerged  from  some  contest.  Marc  noticed  it,  and  said  to 
her:  '  You  have  been  disputing  with  your  grandmother 
again ! ' 

'Ah !  you  can  see  it  ?  Well,  it  's  true,  she  kept  me  for  a 
good  hour  this  morning  trying  to  shame  and  terrify  me 
about  my  first  Communion.  She  speaks  to  me  as  if  I  were 
the  vilest  of  creatures,  describes  to  me  all  the  abominable 
tortures  of  hell,  and  seems  quite  stupefied  and  scandalised 
by  what  she  calls  my  inconceivable  obstinacy.' 

At  this  Marc  brightened  up,  feeling  somewhat  reassured. 
He  had  so  greatly  feared  that  his  daughter  might  prove  as 
weak  as  other  girls,  and  was  happy  to  find  that  she  remained 
so  firm  and  strong-minded  even  when  he  was  no  longer 
present  to  support  her.  But  emotion  came  upon  him  when 
he  pictured  her  in  the  midst  of  persistent  attacks,  scoldings, 
and  scenes,  which  left  her  no  peace. 

'  My  poor  child! '  said  he,  '  how  much  courage  you  need! 
Those  constant  quarrels  must  be  very  painful  to  you.' 

But  she,  having  now  quite  recovered  her  composure, 
answered,  smiling:  'Quarrels?  Oh!  no,  papa.  I  am  too 
respectful  with  grandmamma  to  quarrel  with  her.  It  is  she 
who  is  always  getting  angry  and  threatening  me.  I  listen 
to  her  very  deferentially,  without  ever  making  the  slightest 
interruption.  And  when  she  has  quite  finished,  after  begin- 
ning two  or  three  times  afresh,  I  content  myself  with  saying 
very  gently:  "  But  how  can  I  help  it,  grandmamma?  I 
promised  papa  that  I  would  wait  until  I  was  twenty  before 
deciding  whether  I  would  make  my  first  Communion  or 


362  TRUTH 

not;  and  as  I  swore  it,  I  will  keep  my  word."  You  see,  I 
never  depart  from  that  answer.  I  know  it  by  heart,  and  re- 
peat it  without  changing  a  word.  That  makes  me  invinci- 
ble. And  I  sometimes  begin  to  pity  poor  grandmamma,  for 
she  flies  into  such  a  temper,  banging  the  door  in  my  face  as 
soon  as  ever  I  begin  that  phrase ! ' 

In  the  depths  of  her  heart  Louise  suffered  from  that  per- 
petual warfare ;  but  on  observing  her  father's  delight,  she 
prettily  cast  her  arms  around  his  neck,  and  added,  '  You  see, 
you  may  be  quite  easy,  I  am  really  your  daughter.  Nobody 
will  ever  make  me  do  anything  when  I  have  decided  that  I 
won't  do  it! ' 

The  girl  also  had  to  carry  on  a  battle  with  her  grand- 
mother in  order  to  continue  her  studies,  resolved  as  she  was 
to  devote  herself  to  the  teaching  profession.  In  this  respect 
she  fortunately  had  the  support  of  her  mother,  who  re- 
garded the  future  as  being  very  uncertain  by  reason  of  the 
increasing  avarice  which  Madame  Duparque  displayed  to- 
wards her  family.  The  old  lady  preferred  to  devote  her 
little  fortune  to  pious  works ;  and  since  giving  an  asylum  to 
Genevieve  and  her  daughter  she  had  insisted  upon  their 
paying  for  their  board,  in  this  respect  wishing  to  annoy 
Marc,  who  consequently  had  to  make  his  wife  a  consider- 
able allowance  out  of  his  meagre  salary.  Perhaps  Madame 
Duparque — advised  in  this  matter  as  in  others  by  her  good 
friends,  those  masters  of  intrigue,  whose  unseen  hands 
pulled  every  string — had  hoped  that  Marc  would  respond 
by  a  refusal,  and  that  a  scandal  would  ensue.  But  he  could 
live  on  very  little,  and  he  consented  immediately,  as  if  in- 
deed he  were  well  pleased  to  remain  the  paterfamilias,  the 
worker,  and  supporter  of  those  who  belonged  to  him.  And 
although  straitened  circumstances  aggravated  his  solitude, 
the  meals  he  shared  with  Mignot  becoming  extremely  frugal, 
he  did  not  suffer,  for  it  was  sufficient  for  him  to  know  that 
Genevieve  had  appeared  moved  by  his  willingness  to  pro- 
vide for  her,  and  that  she  found  in  this  pecuniary  question 
a  motive  to  approve  of  Louise's  resolution  to  pursue  her 
studies  in  order  to  ensure  her  future.  Thus  the  girl,  who 
had  already  obtained  her  elementary  certificate,  continued 
to  take  lessons  from  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  preparing  her- 
self for  the  superior  certificate  examination,  which  circum- 
stance gave  rise  to  further  disputes  with  Madame  Duparque, 
who  was  exasperated  by  all  the  science  which  it  had  become 
the  fashion  to  impart  to  young  girls,  when,  in  her  opinion, 


TRUTH  363 

the  catechism  ought  to  have  sufficed  them.  And  as  Louise 
always  answered  every  protest  in  her  extremely  deferential 
manner:  '  Yes,  grandmamma;  certainly,  grandmamma,'  the 
old  lady  grew  more  exasperated  than  ever,  and  ended  by 
picking  quarrels  with  Genevieve,  who,  losing  patience,  oc- 
casionally answered  back. 

One  day  while  Marc  was  listening  to  the  news  his  daughter 
gave  him,  he  became  quite  astonished.  '  Does  mamma 
quarrel  with  grandmother  then? '  he  inquired. 

'  Oh,  yes,  papa.  This  was  even  the  second  or  third  time. 
And  mamma,  you  know,  does  not  beat  about  the  bush. 
She  loses  her  temper  at  once,  answers  back  in  a  loud  voice, 
and  then  goes  to  sulk  in  her  room  as  she  used  to  do  here 
before  she  left.' 

Marc  listened,  unwilling  to  give  utterance  to  the  secret 
delight,  the  hope,  which  was  rising  within  him. 

'  And  does  Madame  Berthereau  take  part  in  these  dis- 
cussions? '  he  resumed. 

'  Oh,  grandmamma  Berthereau  never  says  anything.  She 
sides  with  mamma  and  me,  I  think;  but  she  does  not  dare 
to  support  us  openly  for  fear  of  worries.  .  .  .  She 
looks  very  sad  and  very  ailing.' 

However,  months  went  by,  and  Marc  saw  none  of  his 
hopes  fulfilled.  It  must  be  said  that  he  observed  great  dis- 
cretion in  questioning  his  daughter,  for  it  was  repugnant  to 
him  to  turn  her  into  a  kind  of  spy  for  the  purpose  of  keep- 
ing himself  informed  of  everything  that  occurred  in  the  dis- 
mal little  house  on  the  Place  des  Capucins.  For  weeks  at  a 
time  when  Louise  ceased  to  speak  of  her  own  accord,  Marc 
relapsed  into  anxious  ignorance,  again  losing  all  hope  of 
Genevieve's  return.  His  only  consolation  then  lay  in  his 
daughter's  presence  beside  him  for  a  few  hours  on  Thurs- 
days and  Sundays.  On  those  days  also  it  occasionally 
happened  that  the  two  chums  of  the  Beaumont  Training 
College,  Joseph  Simon  and  Sdbastien  Milhomme,  arrived 
at  the  Maillebois  school  about  three  o'clock,  and  remained 
there  until  six,  happy  to  meet  their  friend  Louise,  who  like 
themselves  was  all  aglow  with  youth  and  courage  and  faith. 
Their  long  chats  were  enlivened  by  merry  laughter,  which 
left  some  gaiety  in  the  mournful  home  throughout  the  en- 
suing week.  Marc,  who  felt  comforted  by  these  meetings, 
at  times  requested  Joseph  to  bring  his  sister  Sarah  from  the 
Lehmanns',  and  likewise  told  S^bastien  that  he  would  be 
happy  to  see  his  mother,  Madame  Alexandre,  accompany 


364  TRUTH 

him.  The  schoolmaster  would  have  been  delighted  to 
gather  a  number  of  worthy  folk,  all  the  forces  of  the  future, 
around  him.  At  those  affectionate  meetings  the  sympathies 
of  former  times  revived,  acquiring  a  strength  full  of  gentle- 
ness and  gaiety,  drawing  Se"bastien  and  Sarah,  Joseph  and 
Louise  together;  while  the  master,  smiling  and  content  to 
await  victory  at  the  hands  of  those  who  represented  to- 
morrow, allowed  good  Mother  Nature,  beneficent  love,  to 
do  their  work. 

All  at  once,  amidst  the  disheartening  delays  of  the  Court 
of  Cassation,  at  a  moment  when  courage  was  forsaking 
David  and  Marc,  they  received  a  letter  from  Delbos  ac- 
quainting them  with  some  great  news  and  requesting  them 
to  call  on  him.  They  did  so  in  all  haste.  The  great  news 
— destined  to  burst  on  Beaumont  like  a  thunderclap — was 
that,  after  a  long  and  cruel  struggle,  Jacquin,  the  diocesan 
architect  and  foreman  of  the  jury  which  had  convicted 
Simon,  had  at  last  felt  it  absolutely  necessary  to  relieve  his 
conscience.  Very  pious,  attending  confession  and  Com- 
munion, strict  in  his  faith,  and  in  all  respects  an  upright 
man,  Jacquin  had  ended  by  feeling  anxious  with  respect  to 
his  salvation,  asking  himself  whether,  as  he  was  in  posses- 
sion of  the  truth,  it  was  possible  for  him  to  keep  silent  any 
longer  without  incurring  the  risk  of  damnation.  It  was 
said  that  his  confessor,  feeling  extremely  perplexed,  not 
daring  to  decide  the  question  himself,  had  advised  him  to 
consult  Father  Crabot,  and  that  if  the  architect  had  re- 
mained silent  several  months  longer  it  was  on  account  of 
the  great  pressure  brought  to  bear  on  him  by  the  Jesuit, 
who,  in  the  name  of  the  Church's  political  interests,  had 
prevented  him  from  speaking  out.  If,  however,  Jacquin 
was  unable  to  keep  his  terrible  secret  any  longer,  it  was 
precisely  by  reason  of  the  anguish  he  felt  as  a  Christian,  one 
who  believed  that  the  Christ  had  descended  upon  earth  to 
ensure  the  triumph  of  truth  and  justice.  And  the  knowledge 
which  consumed  him  was  that  of  Judge  Gragnon's  illegal 
communication  to  the  jury  in  the  Simon  case  of  a  document 
unknown  either  to  the  prisoner  or  to  his  counsel.  Sum- 
moned to  the  retiring  room  to  enlighten  the  jurymen  re- 
specting the  penalty  which  might  attach  to  their  verdict,  the 
judge  had  shown  them  a  letter  received  by  him  a  moment 
previously,  a  letter  from  Simon  to  a  friend,  followed  by  a 
postcript  and  a  paraph,  which  last  was  similar  to  the  one 
on  the  copy-slip  tendered  as  evidence.  It  was  to  this  same 


TRUTH  365 

letter  and  this  paraph  that  Father  Philibin  had  alluded  in 
his  sensational  evidence;  and  now -it  had  been  established 
that  if  the  body  of  the  letter  was  indeed  in  Simon's  hand- 
writing, the  postcript  and  the  paraph  were  assuredly  im- 
pudent forgeries,  in  fact  gross  ones,  by  which  a  child  even 
would  hardly  have  been  deceived. 

Thus  David  and  Marc  found  Delbos  triumphant:  'Ah! 
did  n't  I  tell  you  so? '  he  exclaimed.  '  That  illegal  com- 
munication is  now  proved!  Jacquin  has  written  to  the 
President  of  the  Court  of  Cassation,  confessing  the  truth, 
and  asking  to  be  heard.  ...  I  knew  that  the  letter 
was  among  the  papers  of  the  case,  for  Gragnon  had  not 
dared  to  destroy  it.  But  how  difficult  it  was  to  have  it  pro- 
duced and  submitted  to  the  examination  of  experts!  I 
scented  a  forgery ;  I  felt  that  we  were  confronted  by  some 
more  of  the  handiwork  of  that  terrible  Father  Philibin! 
Ah!  that  man,  how  heavy  and  common  he  looked!  But 
the  more  I  fathom  the  affair  the  greater  do  his  talents,  his 
suppleness,  artfulness,  and  audacity  appear.  He  was  not 
content  with  tearing  off  the  stamped  corner  of  the  copy- 
slip,  he  also  falsified  one  of  Simon's  letters,  so  arranging 
matters  that  this  letter  might  prevail  over  the  jury  at 
the  last  moment.  Yes,  assuredly  that  forgery  was  his 
work ! ' 

However,  David,  who  had  met  with  so  many  deceptions, 
retained  some  fears.  '  But  are  you  sure, '  he  asked,  '  that 
Jacquin,  who  is  the  diocesan  architect  and  at  the  mercy  of 
the  priests,  will  remain  firm  to  the  end? ' 

4  Quite  sure.  You  don't  know  Jacquin.  He  is  not  at  the 
mercy  of  the  priests;  he  is  one  of  the  few  Christians  who 
are  governed  solely  by  their  consciences.  Some  extraordi- 
nary things  have  been  told  me  respecting  his  interviews  with 
Father  Crabot.  At  first  the  Jesuit  spoke  in  a  domineering 
way,  in  the  name  of  his  imperative  Deity,  who  forgives  and 
even  glorifies  the  worst  deeds  when  the  salvation  of  the 
Church  is  in  question.  But  Jacquin  answered  back  in  the 
name  of  a  good  and  equitable  God,  the  God  of  the  innocent 
and  the  just,  who  tolerates  neither  error,  nor  falsehood,  nor 
crime.  I  wish  I  had  been  present;  that  battle  between  the 
mere  believer  and  the  political  agent  of  a  crumbling  religion 
must  have  been  a  fine  spectacle.  However,  I  have  been 
told  that  it  was  the  Jesuit  who  ended  by  humbling  himself, 
and  entreating  Jacquin,  though  he  failed  to  prevent  him 
from  doing  his  duty ' 


366  TRUTH 

'  All  the  same,'  Marc  interrupted,  '  it  took  Jacquin  a  very 
long  time  to  relieve  his  conscience.' 

'  Oh!  no  doubt;  I  don't  say  that  his  duty  became  mani- 
fest to  him  at  once.  For  years,  however,  he  did  not  know 
that  President  Gragnon's  communication  was  illegal.  Al- 
most all  jurors  are  similarly  situated;  they  know  nothing  of 
the  law,  and  take  as  correct  whatever  the  chief  magistrates 
may  say  to  them.  When  Jacquin  learnt  the  truth  he  hesi- 
tated evidently,  and  for  years  and  years  went  about  with  a 
burden  on  his  conscience,  saying  nothing,  however,  for  fear 
of  scandal.  We  shall  never  know  the  sufferings  and  the 
struggles  of  that  man,  who  went  regularly  to  confession  and 
Communion,  ever  terrified  by  the  thought  that  he  was  per- 
haps damning  himself  for  all  eternity.  However,  I  can 
assure  you  that  when  he  became  certain  that  the  document 
was  a  forgery,  he  no  longer  hesitated ;  he  resolved  to  speak 
out,  even  if  by  doing  so  he  should  cause  the  cathedral  of 
Saint  Maxence  to  fall,  for  on  no  account  was  he  disposed 
to  disregard  what  he  deemed  to  be  his  duty  towards  God.' 

Then  Delbos,  like  a  man  who,  after  long  efforts,  was  at 
last  reaching  his  goal,  gaily  summed  up  the  situation,  and 
David  and  Marc  went  off  radiant  with  hope. 

But  how  great  was  the  commotion  in  Beaumont  when 
Jacquin's  letter  to  the  Court  of  Cassation,  his  confession 
and  his  offer  of  evidence  became  known.  Judge  Gragnon 
hastily  closed  his  doors,  refusing  to  answer  the  journalists 
who  applied  to  him,  wrapping  himself,  as  it  were,  in  haughty 
silence.  He  was  no  longer  a  jovial,  sarcastic  sportsman 
and  pursuer  of  pretty  girls.  People  said  that  he  was  quite 
overwhelmed  by  the  blow  which  had  thus  fallen  on  him  on 
the  eve  of  his  retirement  from  the  bench,  at  the  moment 
when  he  was  expecting  to  receive  the  collar  of  a  Com- 
mandership  in  the  Legion  of  Honour.  Of  recent  years  his 
wife,  the  once  beautiful  Madame  Gragnon,  having  passed 
the  age  for  reading  poetry  with  General  Jarousse's  young 
officers,  had  decided  to  occupy  herself  in  converting  him, 
pointing  out  to  him  no  doubt  all  the  advantages  of  a  pious 
old  age ;  and  he  followed  her  to  confession  and  Communion, 
giving  a  lofty  example  of  fervent  Catholicism,  which  ex- 
plained the  passionate  zeal  with  which  Father  Crabot  had 
tried  to  prevent  Jacquin  from  relieving  his  conscience.  The 
Jesuit,  indeed,  wished  to  save  Gragnon,  a  believer  of  great 
importance  and  influence,  of  whom  the  Church  was  very 
proud. 


TRUTH  367 

Moreover,  the  whole  judicial  world  of  Beaumont  sided 
with  the  presiding  judge,  defending  the  conviction  and  con- 
demnation of  Simon  as  its  own  work,  its  masterpiece,  which 
none  might  touch  without  committing  high  treason  against 
the  country.  Behind  that  fine  assumption  of  indignation, 
however,  there  was  base,  shivering  dread — dread  of  the  gal- 
leys, dread  lest  the  gendarmes  should  set  their  heavy  hands 
some  evening  on  the  black  or  red  robes,  furred  with  ermine, 
whose  wearers  had  imagined  themselves  to  be  above  the 
laws.  The  handsome  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere  was  no  longer 
public  prosecutor  at  Beaumont,  he  had  been  transferred  to 
the  neighbouring  Appeal  Court  of  Mornay,  where  he  was 
growing  embittered  by  his  failure  to  secure  a  post  in  Paris, 
in  spite  of  all  his  suppleness  and  skill  under  every  succeed- 
ing government.  On  the  other  hand,  Investigating  Magis- 
trate Daix  had  not  quitted  the  town,  where  he  had  been 
promoted  to  the  rank  of  counsellor;  but  he  was  still  tortured 
by  his  terrible  wife,  whose  ambition  and  craving  for  luxury 
made  his  home  a  hell.  It  was  said  that  Daix,  seized  with 
remorse  like  Jacquin,  was  on  the  point  of  throwing  off  his 
wife's  acrimonious  authority,  and  relating  how  he  had 
cowardly  yielded  to  her  representations,  and  sent  Simon 
for  trial,  at  the  very  moment  when,  from  lack  of  proof,  he 
was  about  to  stay  further  proceedings.  Thus  the  Palais  de 
Justice  was  all  agog,  swept  by  gusts  of  fear  and  anger, 
pending  the  advent  of  the  cataclysm  which  would  at  last 
annihilate  the  ancient  worm-eaten  framework  of  so-called 
human  justice. 

The  political  world  of  Beaumont  was  no  less  shaken,  no 
less  distracted.  Lemarrois,  the  Deputy  and  Mayor,  felt 
that  the  Radical  Republican  views  he  had  long  professed 
were  losing  their  hold  on  the  electorate,  and  that  he  might 
be  swept  away  in  this  supreme  crisis  which  was  bringing 
the  living  strength  of  the  people  forward.  Thus,  in  the 
much-frequented  salon  of  his  intelligent  wife,  the  evolution 
towards  reactionary  courses  became  more  pronounced. 
Among  those  now  often  seen  there  was  Marcilly,  once  the 
representative  of  the  intellectual  young  men,  the  hope  of 
the  French  mind,  but  now  reduced  to  a  kind  of  political 
paralysis,  bewildered  by  his  inability  to  detect  in  which 
direction  lay  his  personal  interests,  and  forced  to  inaction 
by  the  haunting  fear  that  if  he  should  act  in  any  particular 
way  he  might  not  be  re-elected.  Then  another  visitor  was 
General  Jarousse,  who,  though  a  mere  cipher,  now  showed 


368  TRUTH 

himself  aggressive,  spurred  on,  it  seemed,  by  the  perpetual 
nagging  of  his  little,  dusky,  withered  wife.  And  Prefect 
Hennebise  also  called  at  times,  accompanied  by  the  placid 
Madame  Hennebise,  each  desiring  to  live  at  peace  with 
everybody,  such  being  indeed  the  wish  of  the  government, 
whose  motto  was:  '  No  difficulties,  only  handshakes  and 
smiles. '  There  was  great  fear  of  '  bad  '  elections,  as  the 
department  was  so  enfevered  by  the  revival  of  the  Simon 
affair;  and  Marcilly  and  even  Lemarrois,  though  they  did 
not  own  it,  had  resolved  to  ally  themselves  secretly  with 
Hector  de  Sanglebceuf  and  their  other  reactionary  colleagues 
in  order  to  overcome  the  Socialist  candidates,  particularly 
Delbos,  whose  success  would  become  certain  should  he 
succeed  in  his  efforts  on  behalf  of  the  innocent  prisoner. 

All  this  tended  to  the  confusion  which  broke  out  directly 
people  heard  of  the  intervention  of  Jacquin,  by  which  the 
revision  of  the  case  was  rendered  inevitable.  The  Simonists 
triumphed,  and  for  a  few  days  the  anti-Simonists  seemed 
crushed.  Nothing  else  was  talked  about  on  the  aristocratic 
promenade  of  Les  Jaff res ;  and  though  Le  Petit  Beaumontais, 
in  order  to  inspirit  its  readers,  declared  every  morning  that 
the  revision  of  the  case  would  be  refused  by  a  majority  of 
two  to  one,  the  friends  of  the  Church  remained  plunged  in 
desolation,  for  private  estimates  indicated  quite  a  different 
result. 

Meantime  the  delight  shown  among  the  University  men 
was  very  temperate.  Nearly  all  of  them  were  Simonists, 
but  they  had  hoped  in  vain  so  often  that  they  now  scarcely 
dared  to  rejoice.  Rector  Forbes  was  relieved  to  think  that 
he  would  soon  be  rid  of  the  case  of  that  Maillebois  school- 
master, Marc  Froment,  about  whom  he  was  so  frequently 
assailed  by  the  reactionary  forces.  In  spite  of  his  desire  to 
meddle  with  nothing,  Forbes  had  been  obliged  to  confer 
with  Le  Barazer  respecting  the  necessity  of  an  execution; 
and  Le  Barazer,  whose  own  powers  of  resistance  were  ex- 
hausted, foresaw  the  moment  when  policy  would  compel 
him  to  sacrifice  Marc.  He  had  even  mentioned  it  to  Sal- 
van,  who  had  shown  deep  grief  at  the  announcement. 
When,  however,  Marc  came  to  him  with  the  great  news 
that  made  revision  certain,  the  kind-hearted  man  revived  to 
gaiety  and  gave  his  friend  quite  a  triumphal  greeting.  He 
embraced  him  and  then  told  him  of  the  threatening  danger 
from  which  the  favourable  decision  of  the  Court  of  Cassation 
alone  would  save  him. 


TRUTH  369 

'  If  revision  should  not  be  granted,  my  dear  fellow, '  he 
said,  '  you  would  certainly  be  revoked,  for  this  time  you  are 
deeply  involved  in  the  affair,  and  all  the  reactionaries  de- 
mand your  head.  .  ...  However,  the  news  you  bring 
pleases  me,  for  you  are  at  last  victorious,  and  our  secular 
schools  triumph.' 

'  They  need  to  do  so,'  Marc  replied;  '  our  conquests  over 
error  and  ignorance  are  still  so  slight  in  spite  of  all  your 
efforts  to  endow  the  region  with  good  masters.' 

'Certainly  a  good  many  lives  will  be  needed;  but,  no 
matter,  we  are  marching  on,  and  we  shall  reach  the  goal,' 
Salvan  responded  with  his  usual  gesture  expressive  of  un- 
shakable hope. 

Perhaps  the  best  proof  that  Marc  was  really  victorious 
was  found  by  him  in  the  eager  manner  with  which  hand- 
some Mauraisin,  the  Elementary  Inspector,  rushed  towards 
him,  that  same  day,  just  as  he  had  quitted  Salvan. 

'  Ah !  my  dear  Monsieur  Froment,  I  am  very  pleased  to 
meet  you,'  the  Inspector  exclaimed.  'We  see  each  other 
so  seldom  apart  from  the  requirements  of  our  duties. ' 

Since  the  revival  of  the  affair,  mortal  anxiety  had  taken 
possession  of  Mauraisin,  who  at  an  earlier  stage  had  openly 
sided  with  the  anti-Simonists,  convinced  as  he  then  was  that 
the  priests  never  allowed  themselves  to  be  beaten.  But 
now,  if  they  should  lose  the  game,  how  would  he  be  able  to 
save  himself?  The  idea  of  not  being  on  the  winning  side 
distressed  him  greatly. 

Though  nobody  was  passing  in  the  street,  he  leant  towards 
Marc  to  whisper  in  his  ear:  '  For  my  part,  you  know,  my 
dear  Froment,  I  never  doubted  Simon's  innocence.  I  was 
convinced  of  it  at  bottom.  Only  it  is  so  necessary  for  pub- 
lic men  like  ourselves  to  remain  prudent — is  that  not  so? ' 

For  a  long  time  past  Mauraisin  had  been  keeping  his  eye 
on  Salvan's  post,  hoping  to  secure  it  in  due  course;  and  in 
view  of  a  possible  triumph  of  the  Simonists  he  felt  it  would 
be  as  well  to  side  with  them  on  the  eve  of  victory.  But  as 
that  victory  was  not  yet  quite  certain  he  did  not  wish  to  ex- 
hibit himself  in  their  company.  So  he  speedily  took  leave 
of  Marc,  whispering,  as  he  pressed  his  hand  for  the  last 
time,  '  Simon's  triumph  will  be  a  triumph  for  all  of  us.' 

On  returning  to  Maillebois  Marc  preceived  a  change  there 
also.  Darras,  the  ex- Mayor,  whom  he  chanced  to  meet, 
did  not  rest  content  with  bowing  to  him  discreetly,  accord- 
ing to  his  wont,  but  stopped  him  in  the  middle  of  the  high 


3/0  TRUTH 

street,  and  talked  and  laughed  with  him  for  more  than  ten 
minutes.  He,  Darras,  had  been  a  Simonist  at  the  outset, 
but  since  he  had  lost  his  position  as  Mayor  he  had  put  his 
flag  in  his  pocket,  and  made  it  a  habit  to  bolt  his  door  be- 
fore divulging  what  he  thought.  If,  therefore,  he  now 
openly  chatted  with  Marc,  it  must  have  been  because 
Simon's  acquittal  seemed  to  him  a  certainty.  As  it  hap- 
pened, Philis,  the  new  Mayor,  went  by  at  that  moment, 
gliding  swiftly  over  the  pavement  with  his  head  bent  and 
his  eyes  darting  furtive  glances  around  him.  This  amused 
Darras,  who  with  a  knowing  look  at  Marc  exclaimed :  '  What 
pleases  some  displeases  others,  is  it  not  so,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment?  We  all  have  our  turns! ' 

Indeed  a  great  change  in  public  opinion  gradually  became 
manifest.  Day  by  day  for  several  weeks  Marc  observed  the 
increasing  favour  of  the  cause  he  defended.  However,  the 
decisive  importance  of  the  success  already  achieved  became 
most  manifest  to  him  when  he  received  a  letter  from  Baron 
Nathan,  who  was  again  staying  at  La  De"sirade,  and  who 
asked  him  to  call  there  with  respect  to  a  prize  for  the  Com- 
munal School,  which  he,  the  Baron,  desired  to  found.  Al- 
though Nathan,  on  two  or  three  occasions  previously,  had 
given  a  hundred  francs  or  so  to  be  distributed  in  savings- 
bank  deposits  among  the  best  pupils,  Marc  felt  that  the  offer 
of  a  prize  at  that  juncture  was  only  a  pretext.  So  he  re- 
paired to  La  Degrade  full  of  wonder  and  curiosity. 

He  had  not  returned  thither  since  the  now  distant  day 
when  he  had  accompanied  David  on  his  attempt  to  interest 
the  all-powerful  Baron  in  the  cause  of  his  accused  and  im- 
prisoned brother.  Marc  remembered  the  most  trifling  de- 
tails of  that  visit,  the  skilful  manner  in  which  the  triumphant 
Jew,  a  king  of  finance  and  the  father-in-law  of  a  Sangleboeuf, 
had  shaken  off  the  poor  Jew,  on  whom  public  execration 
had  fallen.  And  now,  on  returning  to  La  De'sirade,  Marc 
found  that  its  majesty  and  beauty  had  increased.  Recently 
a  million  of  francs  had  been  spent  on  new  terraces  and  new 
fountains,  which  imparted  an  aspect  of  sovereign  grandeur 
to  the  parterres  in  front  of  the  chateau.  Encompassed  by 
plashing  waters  and  a  galaxy  of  marble  nymphs,  he  ended 
by  reaching  the  steps,  where  two  tall  lackeys,  in  liveries  of 
green  and  gold,  were  waiting.  On  one  of  them  conducting 
him  to  a  little  drawing-room,  where  he  was  requested  to  wait, 
he  remained  alone  for  a  moment,  and  heard  a  confused 
murmur  of  voices  in  some  neighbouring  room.  Then  two 


TRUTH  371 

doors  were  shut,  all  became  quiet,  and  finally  Baron  Nathan 
entered  with  outstretched  hand. 

"  Excuse  me  for  having  disturbed  you,  my  dear  Monsieur 
Froment, '  he  said,  '  but  I  know  how  devoted  you  are  to 
your  pupils,  and  I  wish  to  double  the  sum  which  I  have 
been  giving  you  of  recent  years.  You  are  aware  that  my 
ideas  are  broad,  that  I  desire  to  reward  merit  wherever  it 
may  be  found,  apart  from  all  political  and  religious  ques- 
tions. .  .  .  Yes,  I  make  no  difference  between  the 
congregational  and  the  secular  schools;  I  am  for  all 
France.' 

Short  and  somewhat  bent,  with  a  yellow  face,  a  bald 
cranium,  and  a  large  nose  resembling  the  beak  of  a  bird  of 
prey,  Nathan  went  on  talking,  while  Marc  gazed  at  him. 
The  schoolmaster  knew  that  of  recent  times  the  Baron  had 
still  further  enriched  himself  by  stealing  a  hundred  millions 
of  francs  in  a  colonial  affair,  a  deed  of  rapine,  the  huge 
booty  of  which  he  had  been  obliged  to  share  with  a  Catholic 
bank.  And  he  had  now  plunged  into  fierce  reaction,  for  as 
new  millions  were  added  to  his  former  ones  he  became  more 
and  more  convinced  that  priests  and  soldiers  were  needed 
to  enable  him  to  retain  his  ill-gotten  wealth.  He  was  no 
longer  content  with  having  wormed  his  way,  through  his 
daughter,  into  the  ancient  family  of  the  Sanglebceufs :  he 
now  absolutely  denied  his  race,  openly  displaying  a  ferocious 
anti-Semitism,  showing  himself  a  monarchist,  a  militarist,  a 
respectful  friend  of  those  who  in  olden  time  had  burnt  the 
Jews.  Nevertheless — and  this  astonished  Marc — Nathan, 
whatever  his  wealth,  still  retained  much  of  his  racial  hu- 
mility. A  dread  of  the  persecutions  which  had  fallen  on 
his  ancestors  appeared  in  his  anxious  eyes  as  they  glanced 
at  the  doors  as  if  he  wished  to  be  ready  to  slip  under  a  table 
at  the  slightest  sign  of  danger. 

'  So  it  is  settled,'  he  said,  after  all  sorts  of  involved  ex- 
planations, '  and  you  will  dispose  of  these  two  hundred 
francs  yourself,  as  you  please,  for  I  have  perfect  confidence 
in  your  sagacity.' 

Marc  thanked  him,  but  still  failed  to  understand  the 
meaning  of  it  all.  Even  a  politic  desire  to  remain  on  good 
terms  with  everybody,  a  wish  to  be  among  the  Simonists  if 
they  should  win  the  battle,  did  not  explain  that  flattering 
and  useless  appointment,  that  over-cordial  reception  at  La 
Desirade.  However,  just  as  the  schoolmaster  was  retiring, 
there  came  an  explanation, 


372  TRUTH 

Baron  Nathan,  having  accompanied  him  to  the  drawing- 
room  door,  detained  him  there,  and  with  a  keen  smile, 
which  seemed  prompted  by  a  sudden  inspiration,  exclaimed: 
'  My  dear  Monsieur  Froment,  I  am  going  to  be  very  indis- 
creet. .  .  .  When  I  was  informed  of  your  arrival  just 
now,  I  happened  to  be  with  somebody,  an  important  per- 
sonage, who  exclaimed,  "  Monsieur  Froment!  Oh!  I  should 
be  so  pleased  to  have  a  moment's  conversation  with  him!  " 
A  cry  from  the  heart  in  fact. ' 

The  Baron  paused,  waiting  a  few  seconds  in  the  hope  that 
he  would  be  questioned.  Then,  as  Marc  remained  silent, 
he  laughed  and  said  in  a  jesting  way:  '  You  would  be  greatly 
surprised  if  I  told  you  who  the  personage  was. '  And  as  the 
schoolmaster  still  looked  grave,  remaining  on  the  defensive, 
Nathan  blurted  out  everything:  'It  was  Father  Crabot. 
You  did  not  expect  that,  eh?  .  .  .  But  he  came  to  lunch 
here  this  morning.  As  you  may  know,  he  honours  my 
daughter  with  his  affection,  and  is  a  frequent  visitor  here. 
Well,  he  expressed  to  me  a  desire  to  have  some  conversation 
with  you.  Setting  aside  all  matters  of  opinion,  he  is  a  man 
of  the  rarest  merit.  Why  should  you  refuse  to  see  him? ' 

To  this  Marc,  who  at  last  understood  the  object  of  the 
appointment  given  him,  and  whose  curiosity  was  more  and 
more  aroused,  quietly  responded:  '  But  I  don't  refuse  to  see 
Father  Crabot.  If  he  has  anything  to  say  to  me  I  will  listen 
to  him  willingly.' 

'  Very  good,  very  good ! '  exclaimed  the  Baron,  delighted 
with  the  success  of  his  diplomacy.  '  I  will  go  to  tell  him. ' 

Again  the  two  doors  opened,  one  after  the  other,  and  a 
confused  murmur  of  voices  once  more  reached  the  little 
drawing-room.  Then  all  relapsed  into  silence,  and  Marc 
was  left  waiting  for  some  time.  Having  at  last  drawn  near 
to  the  window  he  saw  the  persons,  whose  voices  he  had 
heard,  step  on  to  the  adjoining  terrace.  And  he  recognised 
Hector  de  Sangleboeuf  and  his  wife,  the  still  beautiful  L£a, 
accompanied  by  their  good  friend,  the  Marchioness  de 
Boise,  who,  though  her  fifty-seventh  birthday  was  now  past, 
remained  a  buxom  blonde,  the  ruins  of  whose  beauty  were 
magnificent.  Nathan  likewise  appeared,  and  one  could 
also  divine  that  Father  Crabot  was  standing  at  the  glass 
door  of  the  grand  drawing-room,  still  talking  to  his  hosts, 
who  left  him  in  possession  of  the  apartment  in  order  that  he 
might  receive  the  visitor  as  if  he  were  at  home. 

The  Marchioness  de  Boise  seemed  particularly  amused  by 


TRUTH  373 

the  incident.  Though  she  had  originally  resolved  to  disap- 
pear as  soon  as  she  should  be  fifty,  unwilling  as  she  was  to 
impose  too  old  a  mistress  on  Hector,  she  had  ended  by 
making  the  chateau  her  permanent  home.  Besides,  people 
said  that  she  was  still  adorable,  so  why  should  she  not  con- 
tinue to  ensure  the  happiness  of  the  husband  whose  marriage 
she  had  so  wisely  negotiated,  and  of  the  wife  whose  tender 
friend  she  was?  Thus  age  might  come  but  happiness  still 
reigned  at  La  D^sirade,  amid  its  luxurious  appointments 
and  Father  Crabot's  discreet  smiles  and  pious  benisons. 

As  Marc  looked  out  of  the  window  and  observed  the  ter- 
rible Sangleboeuf  waving  his  arms  and  shaking  his  carroty 
head,  it  seemed  to  him  that  this  clerical  champion  with  the 
heavy  face  and  the  narrow,  stubborn  brow  was  deploring  the 
practice  of  so  much  diplomacy,  the  honour  which  Father 
Crabot  accorded  to  a  petty  anarchical  schoolmaster  by  thus 
receiving  him.  Sanglebceuf  had  never  once  fought  in  his 
cuirassier  days,  but  he  always  talked  of  sabring  people. 
Although  the  Marchioness,  after  securing  his  election  as  a 
deputy,  had  made  him  rally  to  the  Republic — in  accordance 
with  the  Pope's  express  commands — he  still  and  ever  prated 
about  his  regiment,  and  flew  into  a  passion  whenever  there 
was  any  question  of  the  flag.  Indeed,  he  would  have  com- 
mitted blunder  upon  blunder  had  it  not  been  for  that  in- 
telligent Marchioness,  and  this  was  one  of  the  reasons  she 
gave  for  remaining  near  him.  Again,  on  this  occasion,  she 
had  to  intervene  and  lead  him  and  his  wife  away,  walking 
slowly  between  them,  in  the  direction  of  the  park,  and 
showing  the  while  much  gaiety  of  mien,  and  motherliness 
of  manner  towards  both. 

Baron  Nathan,  however,  had  quickly  returned  to  the 
grand  drawing-room,  the  glass  door  of  which  he  closed ;  and 
almost  immediately  afterwards  Marc  heard  himself  called: 

'  Kindly  follow  me,  my  dear  Monsieur  Froment.' 

The  Baron  led  him  through  a  billiard-room;  then,  having 
opened  the  drawing-room  door,  drew  back  and  ushered  him 
in,  delighted,  it  seemed,  with  the  strange  part  he  was  play- 
ing, his  body  bowed  in  a  posture  which  again  showed  racial 
humility  reviving  in  the  triumphant  king  of  finance. 

'  Please  enter — you  are  awaited.' 

Nathan  himself  did  not  enter,  but  discreetly  closed  the 
door  and  disappeared;  while  Marc,  amazed,  found  himself 
in  the  presence  of  Father  Crabot,  who  stood,  in  his  long 
black  gown,  in  the  centre  of  the  spacious  and  sumptuous 


374  TRUTH 

room,  hung  with  crimson  and  gold.  A  moment's  silence 
followed. 

The  Jesuit,  whose  noble  mien,  whose  lofty  and  elegant 
carriage  Marc  well  remembered,  seemed  to  him  to  have 
greatly  aged.  His  hair  had  whitened,  and  his  countenance 
was  ravaged  by  all  the  terrible  anxiety  he  had  experienced 
for  some  time  past.  But  the  caressing  charm  of  his  voice, 
its  grave  and  captivating  modulations,  had  remained. 

'  As  circumstances  have  brought  us  both  to  this  friendly 
house,  monsieur,'  said  he,  '  you  will  perhaps  excuse  me  for 
having  prompted  an  interview  which  I  have  long  desired. 
I  am  aware  of  your  merits,  I  can  render  homage  to  all  con- 
victions, when  they  are  sincere,  loyal,  and  courageous.' 

He  went  on  speaking  in  this  strain  for  some  minutes, 
heaping  praises  on  his  adversary  as  if  to  daze  him  and  win 
him  over.  But  the  device  was  too  familiar  and  too  childish 
to  influence  Marc,  who,  after  bowing  politely,  quietly 
awaited  the  rest,  striving  even  to  conceal  his  curiosity,  for 
only  some  very  grave  reason  could  have  induced  such  a 
man  as  Father  Crabot  to  run  the  risk  of  such  an  interview. 

'  How  deplorable  it  is,'  the  Jesuit  at  last  exclaimed,  'that 
the  misfortunes  of  the  times  should  separate  minds  so  fit 
to  understand  each  other!  Some  of  the  victims  of  our  dis- 
sensions are  really  to  be  pitied.  For  instance,  there  is 
President  Gragnon ' 

Then,  as  a  hasty  gesture  escaped  the  schoolmaster,  he 
broke  off  in  order  to  interpolate  a  brief  explanation.  '  I 
name  him,'  he  said,  'because  I  know  him  well.  He  is  a 
penitent  of  mine — a  friend.  A  loftier  soul,  a  more  upright 
and  loyal  heart  could  be  found  nowhere.  You  are  aware 
of  the  frightful  position  in  which  he  finds  himself — that 
charge  of  prevarication,1  which  means  the  collapse  of  his 
entire  judicial  career.  He  no  longer  sleeps;  you  would 
pity  him  if  you  were  to  witness  his  sufferings. ' 

At  last  Marc  understood  everything.  They  wished  to 
save  Gragnon,  who  only  yesterday  had  been  an  all-powerful 
son  of  the  Church,  which  felt  it  would  be  grievously  maimed 
if  he  should  be  struck  down. 

'  I  can  understand  his  torment,'  Marc  finally  answered, 
'  but  he  is  paying  the  penalty  of  his  transgression.  A  judge 

1  The  word  '  Prevarication  '  is  used  in  a  legal  sense,  as  signifying  the 
betrayal  of  the  interests  of  one  party  in  a  lawsuit  by  collusion  with  the, 
other  party.  The  French  call  this  forfaitttre. — Trans, 


TRUTH  3/5 

must  know  the  laws,  and  the  illegal  communication  of  which 
he  was  guilty  had  frightful  consequences.' 

'No,  no,  I  assure  you,  he  acted  in  all  simplicity,'  the 
Jesuit  exclaimed.  '  That  letter  which  he  received  at  the  last 
moment  seemed  to  him  without  importance.  He  still  had 
it  in  his  hand  when  he  was  summoned  to  the  jurymen's 
retiring  room,  and  he  no  longer  remembers  how  it  happened 
that  he  showed  it  to  them. ' 

Marc  gave  a  little  shrug  of  the  shoulders.  '  Well,'  he  re- 
sponded, '  he  will  only  have  to  tell  that  to  the  new  judges, 
if  there  should  be  a  new  trial.  ...  In  any  case  I 
hardly  understand  your  intervention  with  me.  I  can  do 
nothing.' 

'Oh!  do  not  say  that,  monsieur!  We  know  how  great 
your  power  is,  however  modest  your  position  may  seem  to 
be.  And  that  is  why  I  thought  of  applying  to  you. 
Throughout  this  affair  all  thought  and  action  and  will- 
power have  been  centred  in  you.  You  are  the  friend  of 
the  Simon  family,  which  will  do  whatever  you  advise.  So, 
come,  will  you  not  spare  an  unfortunate  man,  whose  ruin  is 
by  no  means  indispensable  for  your  cause? ' 

Father  Crabot  joined  his  hands  and  entreated  his  adver- 
sary so  fervently  that  the  latter,  again  all  astonishment, 
wondered  what  could  be  the  real  reason  of  such  a  desperate 
appeal,  such  clumsy  and  impolitic  insistence.  Did  the 
Jesuit  feel  that  the  cause  he  defended  was  lost?  Did  he 
possess  private  information  which  made  him  regard  revision 
as  a  certainty?  In  any  case,  matters  had  come  to  such  a 
pass  that  he  was  now  ready  to  leave  something  to  the  fire  in 
order  to  save  the  rest.  He  abandoned  his  former  creatures, 
who  were  now  too  deeply  compromised.  That  poor  Brother 
Fulgence  had  a  befogged,  unbalanced  mind,  spoilt  by  ex- 
cessive pride;  disastrous  consequences  had  attended  his 
actions.  That  unfortunate  Father  Philibin  had  always  been 
full  of  faith,  no  doubt;  but  then  there  were  many  gaps  in 
his  nature.  He  was  deplorably  deficient  in  moral  sense. 
As  for  the  disastrous  Brother  Gorgias,  Father  Crabot  cast 
him  off  entirely;  he  was  one  of  those  adventurous,  erring 
sons  of  the  Church,  who  become  its  curse.  And  if  the  Jesuit 
did  not  go  so  far  as  to  admit  the  possible  innocence  of  Simon, 
he  was,  at  least,  not  far  from  believing  Brother  Gorgias 
capable  of  every  crime. 

'  You  see,  my  dear  sir,'  he  said,  '  I  do  not  deceive  myself; 
but  there  are  other  men  whom  it  would  be  really  cruel  to 


376  TRUTH 

visit  too  severely  for  mere  errors.  Help  us  to  save  them, 
and  we  will  requite  the  service  by  ceasing  to  contend  with 
you  in  other  matters. ' 

Never  had  Marc  so  plainly  realised  his  strength,  the  very 
strength  of  truth.  He  answered,  engaging  in  quite  a  long 
discussion,  desirous  as  he  was  of  forming  a  final  opinion 
with  respect  to  the  merits  of  Father  Crabot.  And  his 
stupefaction  increased  as  he  fathomed  the  extraordinary 
poverty  of  argument,  the  arrant  clumsiness  too,  which  ac- 
companied the  vanity  of  this  man,  accustomed  never  to  be 
contradicted.  Was  this,  then,  the  profound  diplomatist 
whose  crafty  genius  was  feared  by  everybody,  and  the 
presence  of  whose  hand  was  suspected  in  every  incident,  as 
if,  indeed,  he  ruled  the  world?  In  this  interview,  which 
had  been  prepared  so  clumsily,  he  showed  himself  a  poor 
bewildered  individual,  committing  himself  far  more  than  was 
necessary,  even  incompetent  to  defend  his  faith  against  one 
who  was  merely  possessed  of  sense  and  logic.  A  mediocrity 
— that  was  what  he  was — a  mediocrity,  with  a  facade  of 
social  gifts,  which  imposed  on  the  man  in  the  street.  His 
real  strength  lay  in  the  stupidity  of  his  flock,  the  submissive- 
ness  with  which  the  faithful  bent  low  before  his  statements, 
which  they  regarded  as  being  beyond  discussion.  And  Marc 
ended  by  understanding  that  he  was  confronted  by  a  mere 
show  Jesuit,  one  of  those  who  for  decorative  purposes  were 
allowed  by  their  Order  to  thrust  themselves  forward,  shine, 
and  charm,  while,  in  the  rear,  other  Jesuits — such,  for  in- 
stance, as  Father  Poirier,  the  Provincial  installed  at  Rozan, 
whose  name  was  never  mentioned — directed  everything  like 
unknown  sovereign  rulers  hidden  away  in  distant  places  of 
retreat. 

Father  Crabot,  however,  was  shrewd  enough  to  under- 
stand at  last  that  he  was  taking  the  wrong  course  with  Marc, 
and  he  thereupon  did  what  he  could  to  recover  his  lost 
ground.  The  whole  ended  by  an  exchange  of  frigid  courte- 
sies. Then  Baron  Nathan,  who  must  have  remained 
listening  outside  the  door,  reappeared,  looking  also  very 
discomfited,  with  only  one  remaining  anxiety,  which  was  to 
rid  La  De"sirade  as  soon  as  possible  of  the  presence  of  that 
petty  schoolmaster,  who  was  such  a  fool  that  he  could  not 
even  understand  his  own  interests.  He  escorted  him  to  the 
terrace  and  watched  his  departure.  And  Marc,  as  he  went 
his  way  among  the  parterres,  the  plashing  waters,  and  the 
marble  nymphs,  again  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  Marchioness 


TRUTH  377 

de  Boise,  laughing  affectionately  with  her  good  friends 
Hector  and  Lea,  as  all  three  strolled  slowly  under  the  far- 
spreading  foliage. 

On  the  evening  of  that  same  day  Marc  repaired  to  the 
Rue  du  Trou,  having  given  David  an  appointment  at  the 
Lehmanns'.  He  found  them  all  in  a  state  of  delirious  joy, 
for  a  telegram  from  a  friend  in  Paris  had  just  informed  them 
that  the  Court  of  Cassation  had  at  last  pronounced  an  unan- 
imous judgment,  quashing  the  proceedings  of  Beaumont, 
and  sending  Simon  before  the  Assize  Court  of  Rozan.  For 
Marc  this  news  was  like  a  flash  of  light,  and  what  he  had 
regarded  as  Father  Crabot's  folly  seemed  to  him  more  ex- 
cusable than  before.  The  Jesuit  had  evidently  been  well 
informed;  that  judgment  had  been  known  to  him;  and,  re- 
vision becoming  a  certainty,  he  had  simply  wished  to  save 
those  whom  he  thought  might  still  be  saved.  And  now,  at 
the  Lehmanns',  all  were  weeping  with  joy,  for  the  long 
calamity  was  over.  Wildly  did  Joseph  and  Sarah  kiss 
Rachel,  their  poor,  aged,  and  exhausted  mother.  Both 
children  and  wife  were  intoxicated  by  the  thought  of  the 
return  of  the  father,  the  husband,  for  whom  they  had 
mourned  and  longed  so  much.  Outrage  and  torture  were 
all  forgotten,  for  acquittal  was  now  certain ;  nobody  doubted 
it  either  at  Maillebois  or  at  Beaumont.  And  David  and 
Marc,  those  two  brave  workers  in  the  cause  of  justice,  also 
embraced  each  other,  drawn  together  by  a  great  impulse  of 
affection  and  hope. 

But,  as  the  days  went  by,  anxiety  arose  once  more.  At 
the  penal  settlement  yonder  Simon  had  fallen  so  danger- 
ously ill  that  for  a  long  time  yet  it  would  be  impossible  to 
bring  him  back  to  France.  Months  and  months  might 
elapse  before  the  new  trial  would  begin  at  Rozan.  And 
thus  all  necessary  time  was  given  to  the  spirit  of  injustice  to 
revive  and  spread  once  more  in  the  midst  of  mendacity  and 
the  multitude's  cowardly  ignorance. 


Ill 

DURING  the  year  which  followed,  a  year  full  of 
anxiety,  uneasiness,  and  contention,  the  Church 
made  a  supreme  effort  to  regain  her  power.  Never 
had  her  position  been  more  critical,  more  threatened,  than 
during  that  desperate  battle,  by  which  the  duration  of  her 
empire  might  be  prolonged  for  a  century,  or  perhaps  two 
centuries,  should  she  win  it.  In  order  to  do  so  it  was 
necessary  she  should  continue  to  educate  and  train  the 
youth  of  France,  retain  her  sway  over  children  and  women, 
and  avail  herself  of  the  ignorance  of  the  humble  in  such 
wise  as  to  mould  them  and  make  them  all  error,  credulity, 
and  submissiveness,  even  as  she  needed  them  to  be  in 
order  to  reign.  The  day  when  she  might  be  forbidden  to 
teach,  when  her  schools  would  be  closed,  and  disappear, 
would  prove  for  her  the  beginning  of  the  end,  when 
she  would  be  annihilated  amidst  a  new  and  free  people, 
which  would  have  grown  up  outside  the  pale  of  her  false- 
hoods, cultivating  an  ideal  of  reason  and  humanity.  And 
the  hour  was  a  grave  one.  That  Simon  affair,  with  the  ex- 
pected return  and  triumph  of  the  innocent  prisoner,  might 
deal  a  most  terrible  blow  to  the  Congregational  schools  by 
glorifying  the  secular  ones.  Meantime  Father  Crabot,  who 
wished  to  save  Judge  Gragnon,  was  so  compromised  himself 
that  he  had  disappeared  from  society  and  hidden  himself, 
pale  and  trembling,  in  his  lonely  cell.  Father  Philibin,  who 
had  been  consigned  to  an  Italian  convent,  was  spending  the 
remainder  of  his  days  in  penitence,  unless  indeed  he  were 
already  dead.  Brother  Fulgence,  removed  by  his  superiors 
in  punishment  for  the  discredit  which  had  fallen  on  his 
school,  a  third  of  whose  pupils  had  already  quitted  it,  was 
said  to  have  fallen  dangerously  ill  in  the  distant  department 
whither  he  had  been  sent.  Finally,  Brother  Gorgias  had 
fled,  fearing  that  he  might  be  arrested,  and  feeling  that  his 
principals  were  forsaking  him,  willing  to  sacrifice  him  as  an 
expiatory  victim.  And  this  flight  had  increased  the  anxiety 

378 


TRUTH  379 

of  the  defenders  of  the  Church,  who  lived  only  with  the 
thought  of  fighting  a  last  and  merciless  battle  when  the 
Simon  affair  should  come  before  the  Rozan  Assize  Court. 

Marc  also,  while  lamenting  Simon's  ill  health,  which  de- 
layed his  return  to  France,  was  preparing  for  that  same 
battle,  fully  realising  its  decisive  importance.  Almost  every 
Thursday,  sometimes  with  David,  sometimes  alone,  he  re- 
paired to  Beaumont,  calling  first  on  Delbos,  to  whom  he 
made  suggestions,  and  whom  he  questioned  about  the 
slightest  incidents  of  the  week.  And  afterwards  he  went 
to  see  Salvan,  who  kept  him  informed  of  the  state  of  public 
opinion,  every  fluctuation  of  which  set  all  classes  in  the 
town  agog.  In  this  wise,  then,  one  Thursday,  Marc  paid  a 
visit  to  the  Training  College,  and  on  quitting  it  went  down 
the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  where,  close  to  the  cathedral  of  St. 
Maxence,  he  was  upset  by  a  most  unexpected  meeting. 

On  one  of  the  deserted  sidewalks  of  the  avenue,  at  a  spot 
where  scarcely  anybody  was  ever  seen  after  four  o'clock, 
he  perceived  Genevieve  seated  on  a  bench,  and  looking 
very  downcast,  weary,  and  lonely  in  the  cold  shadow  falling 
from  the  cathedral,  whose  proximity  encouraged  the  moss 
to  grow  on  the  trunks  of  the  old  elms. 

For  a  moment  Marc  remained  motionless,  quite  thunder- 
struck. He  had  met  his  wife  in  Maillebois  at  long  intervals, 
but  invariably  in  the  company  of  Madame  Duparque;  and 
on  those  occasions  she  had  passed  through  the  streets  with 
absent-minded  eyes,  on  her  way,  no  doubt,  to  some  de- 
votional exercise.  This  time,  however,  they  found  them- 
selves face  to  face,  in  perfect  solitude,  parted  by  none. 
Genevieve  had  seen  him,  and  was  looking  at  him  with  an 
expression  in  which  he  fancied  he  could  detect  great  suffer- 
ing, and  an  unacknowledged  craving  for  help.  Thus  he 
went  forward,  and  even  ventured  to  seat  himself  on  the 
same  bench,  though  at  some  little  distance  from  her,  for  fear 
lest  he  should  frighten  her  and  drive  her  away. 

Deep  silence  reigned.  It  was  June,  and  the  sun,  de- 
scending towards  the  horizon  in  a  vast  stretch  of  limpid  sky, 
transpierced  the  surrounding  foliage  with  slender  golden 
darts;  while  little  wandering  zephyrs  already  began  to  cool 
the  warm  afternoon  atmosphere.  And  Marc  still  looked 
at  his  wife,  saying  nothing,  but  feeling  deeply  moved  as  he 
noticed  that  she  had  grown  thinner  and  paler,  as  if  after  a 
serious  illness.  Her  face,  crowned  by  splendid  fair  hair, 
and  with  large  eyes  which  once  had  been  all  passion  and 


380  TRUTH 

gaiety,  had  not  only  become  emaciated,  but  had  acquired 
an  expression  of  ardent  anxiety,  the  torment  of  a  parching 
thirst,  which  nothing  could  assuage.  Her  eyelids  quivered, 
and  two  tears,  which  she  vainly  tried  to  force  back,  coursed 
down  her  cheeks.  Then  Marc  began  to  speak — in  such  a 
way  that  it  seemed  as  if  he  had  quitted  her  only  the  pre- 
vious day,  such  indeed  was  his  desire  to  reassure  her. 

1  Is  our  little  Clement  well? '  he  asked. 

She  did  not  answer  immediately,  for  she  feared,  no  doubt, 
that  she  might  reveal  the  emotion  which  was  choking  her. 
The  little  boy,  who  had  lately  completed  his  fourth  year, 
was  no  longer  at  Dherbecourt.  Having  removed  him  from 
his  nurse,  Genevieve  now  kept  him  with  her  in  spite  of  all 
her  grandmother's  scoldings. 

'  He  is  quite  well,'  she  said  at  last  in  a  slightly  tremulous 
voice,  though  on  her  side  also  she  strove  to  affect  a  kind  of 
indifferent  quietude. 

'And  our  Louise,'  Marc  resumed,  '  are  you  satisfied  with 
her?' 

'  Yes :  she  does  not  comply  with  my  desires ;  you  have 
remained  the  master  of  her  mind ;  but  she  is  well  behaved, 
she  studies,  and  I  do  not  complain  of  her.' 

Silence  fell  again,  embarrassment  once  more  stayed  their 
tongues.  That  allusion  to  their  daughter's  first  Com- 
munion, and  the  terrible  quarrel  which  had  parted  tfyem, 
had  been  sufficient.  Yet  the  virulence  of  that  quarrel  was 
necessarily  abating  day  by  day,  the  girl  herself  having  as- 
sumed all  responsibility  by  her  quiet  resolve  to  await  her 
twentieth  year  before  making  any  formal  confession  of  re- 
ligious faith.  In  her  gentle  way  she  had  exhausted  her 
mother's  resolution;  and  indeed  a  gesture  of  lassitude  had 
escaped  the  latter  when  speaking  of  her,  as  if  she  had  re- 
ferred to  some  long-desired  happiness,  all  hope  of  which 
had  fled.  A  few  moments  went  by,  and  then  Marc  gently 
ventured  to  put  another  question  to  her:  'And  you,  my 
friend,  you  have  been  so  ill:  how  are  you  now? ' 

She  shrugged  her  shoulders  in  a  hopeless  way,  and  was 
again  obliged  to  force  back  her  tears.  '  I?  Oh,  I  have 
long  ceased  to  know  how  I  am !  But  no  matter,  I  resign 
myself  to  live  since  God  gives  me  the  strength  to  do  so. ' 

So  great  was  Marc's  distress,  so  deeply  was  his  whole 
being  stirred  by  a  quiver  of  loving  compassion  at  the  sight 
of  such  great  suffering,  that  a  cry  of  intense  anxiety  sprang 
from  his  lips:  '  Genevieve,  my  Genevieve,  what  ails  you? 


TRUTH  381 

what  is  your  torment?  Tell  me!  Ah,  if  I  could  only  con- 
sole you,  and  cure  you ! ' 

Thus  speaking,  he  came  nearer  to  her  on  the  bench,  near 
enough  indeed  to  touch  the  folds  of  her  gown,  but  she 
hastily  drew  back.  '  No,  no,  we  have  nothing  more  in  com- 
mon,' she  exclaimed.  '  You  can  no  longer  do  anything  for 
me,  my  friend,  for  we  belong  to  different  worlds.  .  .  . 
Ah!  if  I  were  to  tell  you!  But  of  what  use  would  it  be? 
You  would  not  understand  me ! ' 

Nevertheless,  she  went  on  speaking;  and  in  short  and 
feverish  sentences,  never  noticing  that  she  was  confessing 
herself,  she  told  him  of  her  torture,  her  daily  increasing 
anguish,  for  she  had  reached  one  of  those  distressful  hours 
when  the  heart  instinctively  opens  and  overflows.  She 
related  how,  unknown  to  Madame  Duparque,  she  had 
escaped  that  afternoon  from  Maillebois,  in  order  to  speak 
with  a  famous  missionary,  Father  Athanase,  whose  pious 
counsels  were  at  that  time  revolutionising  the  pious  folk  of 
Beaumont.  The  missionary  was  merely  sojourning  there 
for  a  short  time,  but  it  was  said  that  he  had  already  worked 
some  marvellous  cures — a  blessing,  a  prayer,  from  his  lips 
having  restored  angelic  calmness  to  the  unappeasable  souls 
of  women  who  were  racked  by  their  yearning  for  Jesus. 
And  Genevieve  had  just  left  the  neighbouring  cathedral, 
where  for  two  hours  she  had  remained  in  prayer,  after  con- 
fessing to  that  holy  man  her  unquenchable  thirst  for  divine 
happiness.  But  he  had  merely  absolved  her  for  what  he 
called  excess  of  pride  and  human  passion,  and  by  way  of 
penitence  had  told  her  to  occupy  her  mind  with  humble 
duties,  such  as  the  care  of  the  poor  and  the  sick.  In  vain 
afterwards  had  she  striven  to  humble,  annihilate  herself,  in 
the  darkest,  the  loneliest  chapel  of  St.  Maxence;  she  had 
not  found  peace,  she  had  not  satisfied  her  hunger;  she  still 
glowed  with  the  same  craving — a  return  for  the  gift  of  her 
whole  being  to  the  Deity,  that  gift  which  she  had  tendered 
again  and  again,  though  never  once  had  it  brought  real 
peace  and  happiness  to  her  flesh  and  her  heart. 

As  Marc  listened  to  what  she  said,  he  began  to  suspect 
the  truth,  and  whatever  might  be  his  sadness  at  seeing  his 
Genevieve  so  wretched,  a  quiver  of  hope  arose  within  him. 
Plainly  enough,  neither  Abbe"  Quandieu  nor  even  Father 
The"odose  had  satisfied  the  intense  need  of  love  that  existed 
in  her  nature.  She  had  known  love,  and  she  must  still  love 
the  man,  the  husband,  whom  she  had  quitted,  and  who 


382  TRUTH 

adored  her.  Mere  mystical  delights  had  left  her  unsatisfied 
and  irritated.  She  was  now  but  the  proud,  stubborn 
daughter  of  Catholicism,  who  turns  desperately  to  harsher 
and  more  frantic  religious  practices,  as  to  stronger  stupe- 
facients,  in  order  to  numb  the  bitterness  and  rebellion  in- 
duced by  increasing  disillusion.  Everything  pointed  to  it: 
the  revival  of  motherliness  in  her  nature,  for  she  had  taken 
little  Cle'ment  back,  and  busied  herself  with  him,  and  she 
even  found  some  consolation  in  Louise,  who  exercised  a 
gentle  healing  influence  over  her,  leading  her  back  a  little 
more  each  day  towards  the  father,  the  husband.  Then,  also, 
there  were  her  dissensions  with  her  terrible  grandmother, 
and  her  dawning  dislike  for  the  little  house  on  the  Place 
des  Capucins,  where  she  at  last  felt  she  could  no  longer  live, 
for  its  coldness,  silence,  and  gloom  were  deathly.  And, 
after  failing  with  Abb£  Quandieu  and  Father  Theodose,  her 
sufferings  had  led  her  to  make  a  supreme  attempt  with  that 
powerful  missionary,  to  whom  she  had  transferred  her  faith, 
that  miracle-working  confessor,  whom  she  had  hastened  to 
consult  in  secret  for  fear  lest  she  might  be  prevented,  and 
who,  by  way  of  relief,  had  only  been  able  to  prescribe  prac- 
tices which,  in  the  circumstances,  were  childish. 

'  But,  my  Genevieve, '  Marc  cried  again,  carried  away, 
losing  all  thought  of  prudence,  '  if  you  are  thus  beset,  thus 
tortured,  it  is  because  you  lack  our  home!  You  are  too 
unhappy:  come  back,  come  back,  I  entreat  you!  ' 

Her  pride  bristled  up,  however,  and  she  answered:  '  No, 
no,  I  shall  never  go  back  to  you.  I  am  not  unhappy:  it  is 
untrue.  I  am  punished  for  having  loved  you,  for  having 
been  part  of  you,  for  having  had  a  share  in  your  crime. 
Grandmother  does  right  to  remind  me  of  it  when  I  am  so 
weak  as  to  complain.  I  expiate  your  sin,  God  strikes  me 
to  punish  you,  and  it  is  your  poison  which  burns  me  beyond 
hope  of  relief. ' 

'  But,  my  poor  wife,  all  that  is  monstrous.  They  are 
driving  you  mad!  If  it  is  true  that  I  set  a  new  harvest  in 
you,  it  is  precisely  on  that  harvest  that  I  rely  to  ensure  our 
happiness  some  day.  Yes,  we  became  so  blended  one  with 
the  other  that  we  can  never  be  wholly  parted.  And  you 
will  end  by  returning  to  me:  our  children  will  bring  you 
back.  The  pretended  poison  which  your  foolish  grand- 
mother talks  about  is  our  love  itself;  it  is  working  in  your 
heart,  and  it  will  bring  you  back.' 

'  Never!     .     .     .     God  would  strike  us  down,  both  of 


TRUTH  383 

us,'  she  retorted.  'You  drove  me  from  our  home  by  your 
blasphemy.  If  you  had  really  loved  me,  you  would  not 
have  taken  my  daughter  from  me,  by  refusing  to  let  her 
make  her  first  Communion.  How  can  I  return  to  a  home 
of  impiety  where  it  would  not  even  be  allowable  for  me  to 
pray?  Ah!  how  wretched  I  am;  nobody,  nobody  loves  me, 
and  heaven  itself  will  not  open! ' 

She  burst  into  sobs.  Filled  with  despair  by  that  frightful 
cry  of  distress  Marc  felt  that  it  would  be  useless  and  cruel 
to  torture  her  further.  The  hour  for  reunion  had  not  yet 
come.  Silence  fell  between  them  once  more,  while  in  the 
distance,  on  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  the  cries  of  some  child- 
ren at  play  rose  into  the  limpid  evening  atmosphere. 

During  their  impassioned  converse  they  had  at  last  drawn 
nearer  to  each  other  on  the  lonely  bench;  and  now,  seated 
side  by  side,  they  seemed  to  be  reflecting,  their  glances 
wandering  away  amid  the  golden  dust  of  the  sunset.  At 
last  Marc  spoke  again,  as  if  finishing  his  thoughts  aloud: 
'  I  do  not  think,  my  friend,  that  you  gave  for  a  moment  any 
credit  to  the  abominable  charges  with  which  certain  people 
wished  to  besmirch  me  d  propos  of  my  brotherly  intercourse 
with  Mademoiselle  Mazeline.' 

'Oh!  no,'  Genevieve  answered  quickly,  'I  know  you, 
and  I  know  her.  Do  not  imagine  that  I  have  become  so 
foolish  as  to  believe  all  that  has  been  said  to  me.' 

Then  with  some  slight  embarrassment  she  continued:  '  It 
is  the  same  with  me.  Some  people,  I  know  it,  have  set  me 
among  the  flock  which  Father  Theodose  is  said  to  have 
turned  into  a  kind  of  cour  galante.  In  the  first  place  I  do 
not  admit  that  anything  of  the  kind  exists.  Father  The"o- 
dose  is,  perhaps,  rather  too  proud  of  his  person,  but  I  be- 
lieve his  faith  to  be  sincere.  Besides,  I  should  have  known 
how  to  defend  myself — you  do  not  doubt  it,  I  hope? ' 

In  spite  of  his  sorrow  Marc  could  not  help  smiling 
slightly.  Genevieve's  evident  embarrassment  indicated  that 
there  had  been  some  audacity  on  the  part  of  the  Capuchin, 
and  that  she  had  checked  it.  Assuming  this  to  be  the  case 
Marc  felt  the  better  able  to  understand  why  she  was  so 
perturbed  and  embittered. 

'I  certainly  do  not  doubt  it,'  he  responded.  'I  know 
you,  as  you  know  me,  and  I  am  aware  that  you  are  incapa- 
ble of  wrongdoing.  I  have  no  anxiety  respecting  Father 
Theodose  on  your  account,  whatever  another  husband  of 
my  acquaintance  may  have  to  say.  .  .  .  Yet  all  the  same 


384  TRUTH 

I  regret  that  you  were  so  badly  advised  as  to  quit  worthy 
Abbe  Quandieu  for  that  handsome  monk.' 

A  fugitive  blush  which  appeared  on  Genevieve's  cheeks 
while  her  husband  was  speaking  told  him  that  he  had 
guessed  aright.  It  was  not  without  a  profound  knowledge 
of  woman  in  her  earlier  years,  when  an  amorosa  may  exist 
within  the  penitent,  that  Father  Crabot  had  advised  Madame 
Duparque  to  remove  her  daughter  from  the  charge  of  old 
Abbe  Quandieu  and  place  her  in  that  of  handsome  Father 
Theodose.  The  Catholic  doctors  are  well  aware  that  love 
alone  can  kill  love,  and  that  a  woman  who  loves  apart  from 
Christ  never  wholly  belongs  to  Christ.  The  return  of 
Genevieve  to  her  husband  and  her  sin  was  fatal  unless  she 
should  cease  to  love,  or  rather  unless  she  should  love  else- 
where. But,  as  it  happened,  Father  Theodose  was  not  expert 
in  analysing  human  nature,  he  had  blundered  with  respect 
to  the  passionate  yet  loyal  penitent  confided  to  his  hands, 
and  had  thus  precipitated  the  crisis,  provoking  repugnance 
and  rebellion  in  that  distracted,  suffering  woman,  who, 
without  as  yet  returning  to  sober  reason,  saw  the  glorious, 
mystical  stage-scenery  of  the  religion  of  her  childhood  col- 
lapse around  her. 

Well  pleased  with  the  symptoms  which  he  fancied  he 
could  detect,  Marc  asked  somewhat  maliciously:  '  And  so 
Father  Theodose  is  no  longer  your  confessor? ' 

Genevieve  turned  her  clear  eyes  upon  him,  and  answered 
plainly:  '  No,  Father  Theodose  does  not  suit  me,  and  I  have 
gone  back  to  Abbe*  Quandieu,  who,  as  grandmother  rightly 
says,  lacks  warmth,  but  who  quiets  me  at  times,  for  he  is 
very  kind.' 

For  a  moment  she  seemed  to  ponder.  Then,  in  an  under- 
tone, she  allowed  another  avowal  to  cross  her  lips:  'All  the 
same,  the  dear  man  does  not  know  how  greatly  he  has  in- 
creased the  torment  in  which  I  live  by  what  he  said  to  me 
about  that  abominable  affair ' 

She  stopped  short,  and  Marc,  guessing  the  truth,  becom- 
ing quite  impassioned  now  that  this  subject  was  broached, 
continued:  '  The  Simon  affair,  eh?  Abbe  Quandieu  believes 
Simon  to  be  innocent,  does  he  not?  * 

Genevieve  had  cast  her  eyes  towards  the  ground.  For  a 
moment  she  remained  silent;  then  said,  very  faintly:  '  Yes, 
he  believes  in  his  innocence;  he  told  me  so  with  great  mys- 
tery in  the  choir  of  his  church,  at  the  foot  of  the  altar,  be- 
fore our  Lord  who  heard  him.' 


TRUTH  385 

'  And  you  yourself,  Genevieve,  tell  me,  do  you  now  be- 
lieve in  Simon's  innocence? ' 

'  No,  I  do  not,  I  cannot.  You  must  remember  that  I 
should  never  have  left  you  had  I  believed  him  innocent,  for 
his  innocence  would  have  meant  the  guilt  of  the  defenders 
of  God.  You,  by  defending  him,  charged  God  with  error 
and  falsehood.' 

Marc  well  remembered  the  circumstances.  He  again  saw 
his  wife  bring  him  the  news  of  the  revision,  growing  ex- 
asperated at  the  sight  of  his  delight,  exclaiming  that  there 
was  no  truth  or  justice  outside  heaven,  and  at  last  fleeing 
from  the  house  where  her  faith  was  outraged.  And  now 
that  she  seemed  to  him  to  be  shaken  he  desired  more 
ardently  than  ever  to  convince  her  of  the  truth,  for  he  felt 
that  he  would  win  her  back  as  soon  as  with  the  triumph  of 
truth  her  rnind  should  awaken  to  the  necessity  of  justice. 

'  But  once  more,  Genevieve,  my  Genevieve,  it  is  im- 
possible that  you,  who  are  so  upright  and  so  sincere,  whose 
mind  is  so  clear  when  the  superstitions  of  your  childhood 
do  not  cloud  it — it  is  impossible  that  you  should  believe 
such  gross  falsehoods.  Inform  yourself,  read  the  docu- 
ments.' 

'  But  I  am  fully  informed,  I  assure  you,  my  friend ;  I 
have  read  everything.' 

'  You  have  read  all  the  documents  which  have  been  pub- 
lished? All  the  inquiry  of  the  Court  of  Cassation?  ' 

'  Why,  yes !  I  have  read  everything  that  has  appeared  in 
Le  Petit  Beaumontais.  You  know  very  well  that  grand- 
mother takes  that  paper  every  morning. ' 

With  a  violent  gesture  Marc  gave  expression  to  his  disgust 
and  indignation.  '  Ah  well,  my  darling,  you  are,  indeed, 
fully  informed !  The  vile  print  you  speak  of  is  a  sewer  of 
poison,  which  disseminates  only  filth  and  falsehood.  Docu- 
ments are  falsified  in  it,  texts  are  mutilated,  and  the  poor 
credulous  minds  of  the  poor  and  the  lowly  are  gorged  with 
stupid  fables.1  .  .  .  You  are  simply  poisoned  like  many 
other  worthy  folk.' 

1  This  is  exactly  what  happened  in  the  Dreyfus  case.  If,  apart  from 
all  those  who,  hating  Dreyfus  as  a  Jew,  were  resolved  a  priori  to  regard 
him  as  guilty  whatever  might  be  the  evidence,  there  are  still  millions 
of  Frenchmen  who  honestly  retain  a  belief  in  his  culpability,  this  is  be- 
cause scores  of  F'rench  newspapers — those  owned  or  patronised  by  the 
Nationalist  party  and  the  Roman  Catholic  Church — deliberately  falsified 
and  mutilated  documents  and  evidence,  serving  to  their  readers  only 


386  TRUTH 

She  herself,  no  doubt,  was  conscious  that  the  folly  and 
impudence  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  were  excessive,  for  again 
she  cast  down  her  eyes,  and  looked  distressed. 

'  Listen ! '  Marc  resumed.  '  Let  me  send  you  the  com- 
plete verbatim  report  of  the  Court's  inquiry,  with  the  docu- 
ments annexed  to  it;  and  promise  me  that  you  will  read 
everything  attentively  and  straightforwardly.' 

But  at  this  suggestion  she  vivaciously  raised  her  head: 
'  No,  no;  send  me  nothing.  I  do  not  wish  it.' 

'  Why? ' 

1  Because  it  is  useless.  There  is  no  need  for  me  to  read 
anything. ' 

He  looked  at  her,  again  feeling  discouraged  and  grieved. 

'  Say  rather  that  you  won't  read.' 

'  Well,  yes,  if  you  prefer  it  that  way,  I  won't  read  any- 
thing. As  grandmother  says:  "What  is  the  use  of  it?" 
Ought  one  not  always  to  distrust  one's  reason? ' 

'  You  won't  read  anything  because  you  fear  you  might  be 
convinced,  because  you  already  doubt  the  things  which, 
only  yesterday,  you  regarded  as  certainties.' 

She  interrupted  him  with  a  gesture  of  fatigue  and  uncon- 
cern, but  he  continued:  'And  the  words  of  Abbe  Quandieu 
pursue  you ;  you  ask  yourself  with  terror  how  a  holy  priest 
can  believe  in  an  innocence  which,  if  recognised,  would 
compel  you  to  curse  all  the  years  of  error  with  which  you 
have  tortu«ed  our  poor  home.' 

This  tiue  she  did  not  even  make  a  gesture,  but  it  was 
apparent  that  she  had  resolved  to  listen  no  further.  For  a 
moment  her  glance  remained  fixed  on  the  ground.  Then 
she  slowly  said:  '  Do  not  amuse  yourself  by  increasing  my 
sorrow.  Our  life  has  been  shattered.  It  is  all  over.  I 
should  deem  myself  still  more  guilty  than  now  if  I  were  to 
go  back  to  you.  And  what  personal  relief  could  it  give  you 
to  imagine  that  ?  made  a  mistake,  and  that  I  have  not  found 
my  grandmother  s  house  to  be  the  home  of  peace  and  faith 
in  which  I  thought  I  was  taking  refuge?  My  sufferings 
would  not  cure  yours. ' 

This,  as  Marc  felt,  was  almost  a  confession — an  acknow- 

such  particulars  as  tended  to  indicate  the  prisoner's  guilt.  It  is  hardly 
too  much  to  say  that  half  of  France  is  still  ignorant  of  the  real  facts  of 
the  Dreyfus  case.  We  are  often  told  that  the  press  has  much  power  for 
good  :  never  was  its  power  for  evil  more  strikingly  exemplified  than  in 
that  lamentable  affair,  from  the  effects  of  which  France  is  still  suffering. 
—  Trans. 


TRUTH  387 

ledgment  of  her  secret  regret  at  having  quitted  him,  and  of 
the  anxious  doubts  into  which  she  had  sunk.  Once  more, 
therefore,  he  exclaimed:  '  But  if  you  are  unhappy,  say  it! 
And  come  back;  bring  the  children  with  you;  the  house 
still  awaits  you!  It  would  be  great  joy,  great  happiness.' 

But  she  stood  up  and  repeated,  like  one  who  obstinately 
remains  blind  and  deaf:  '  I  am  not  unhappy.  I  am  being 
punished,  and  I  will  endure  my  punishment  to  the  end. 
And  if  you  have  any  pity  for  me,  remain  here ;  do  not  try 
to  follow  me.  Should  you  meet  me  again,  too,  turn  your 
head  away,  for  all  is  ended,  all  must  be  ended,  between 
us.' 

Then  she  went  off  along  the  deserted  avenue,  amid  the 
paling  gold  of  the  sunset,  her  figure  quite  sombre,  tall,  and 
slim;  and  all  that  Marc  could  still  see  of  her  beauty  was  her 
splendid  fair  hair,  which  a  last  sunbeam  irradiated.  He 
obediently  refrained  from  moving,  but,  hoping  for  a  last 
glance  of  farewell,  he  watched  her  as  she  walked  away. 
She  did  not  turn,  however;  she  disappeared  from  view 
among  the  trees,  while  the  evening  wind,  now  rising,  passed 
with  a  chilling  quiver  beneath  the  foliage. 

When  Marc  painfully  rose  to  his  feet,  he  was  amazed  to 
see  his  good  friend  Salvan  standing  before  him,  with  a  happy 
smile  on  his  lips.  'Ah!  my  fine  lover,  so  this  is  how  I  catch 
you  giving  assignations  in  lonely  corners !  I  saw  you  already 
some  time  ago,  but  remained  watching,  for  I  did  not  wish 
to  disturb  you.  ...  So  this  is  why  you  remained  with 
me  such  a  short  time  when  you  called  at  the  college  this 
afternoon,  Master  Slyboots! ' 

Sadly  shaking  his  head,  Marc  walked  away  beside  his  old 
friend.  '  No,  no,'  he  said,  '  we  merely  met  by  chance,  and 
my  heart  is  quite  lacerated.' 

Then  he  recounted  the  meeting,  and  the  long  conversa- 
tion from  which  he  had  just  emerged  feeling  more  convinced 
than  ever  that  the  rupture  was  definitive.  Salvan,  who  had 
never  consoled  himself  for  having  promoted  a  marriage 
which,  however  happy  at  the  outset,  was  ending  so  badly, 
and  who  recognised  that  he  had  acted  with  great  imprudence 
in  wedding  free  thought  to  the  Church,  listened  attentively, 
ceasing  to  smile,  yet  looking  fairly  satisfied. 

'But  that  is  not  so  bad,'  he  said  at  last.  'You  surely 
did  not  expect  that  our  poor  Genevieve  would  throw  herself 
at  your  head,  and  entreat  you  to  take  her  back?  When  a 
woman  leaves  her  husband  to  give  herself  to  God,  as  your 


388  TRUTH 

wife  did,  her  pride  prevents  her  from  acknowledging  in  that 
way  the  distress  she  now  feels  at  having  failed  to  find  the 
contentment  she  anticipated.  None  the  less,  in  my  opinion, 
Genevieve  is  passing  through  a  frightful  crisis,  which  may 
bring  her  back  to  you  at  any  moment.  ...  If  truth 
should  enlighten  her,  she  will  act  at  once.  She  has  retained 
too  much  sense  to  be  unjust.' 

And  again  becoming  gay  and  animated,  Salvan  went  on: 
'  I  never  told  you,  my  friend,  of  the  attempts  I  made  with 
Madame  Duparque  of  recent  years.  As  they  resulted  in 
nothing,  there  was  no  occasion  for  me  to  vaunt  them  to  you. 
However,  when  your  wife  acted  so  inconsiderately,  when 
she  left  you,  I  thought  of  giving  her  a  little  lecture,  for  I 
was  an  old  friend  of  her  father's,  and,  besides,  I  had  been 
her  own  guardian.  That  circumstance  naturally  gave  me 
admittance  to  the  dismal  little  house  on  the  Place  des 
Capucins.  But  you  can  have  no  idea  of  the  ferocious  man- 
ner in  which  the  terrible  old  grandmother  received  me. 
She  would  not  leave  me  alone  with  Genevieve  for  a  moment, 
and  she  interrupted  every  conciliatory  phrase  of  mine  with 
imprecations  intended  to  fall  on  you.  Nevertheless,  I  think 
I  managed  to  say  what  I  wished  to  say.  True,  the  poor 
child  was  in  no  fit  state  to  listen  to  me.  When  Catholic 
training  revives,  the  ravages  which  religious  exaltation  may 
cause  in  a  woman's  brain  are  frightful.  Genevieve,  for  her 
part,  appeared  well-balanced  and  healthy  when  you  married 
her;  but  that  unfortunate  Simon  affair  sufficed  to  shatter  all 
equilibrium.  She  would  not  even  listen  to  me ;  her  answers 
were  so  wild  and  foolish  as  to  make  one's  reason  stagger. 
Briefly,  I  was  beaten.  I  was  not  exactly  turned  out  of 
doors,  but,  after  two  subsequent  attempts  made  at  long  in- 
tervals, I  lost  all  hope  of  introducing  a  little  reasonableness 
into  that  abode  of  insanity,  where  poor  Madame  Berthereau, 
in  spite  of  her  sufferings,  seemed  the  only  person  who  re- 
tained a  little  good  sense.' 

'  You  see  very  well  that  there  is  no  hope, '  responded 
Marc,  who  remained  very  gloomy.  '  One  cannot  reclaim 
people  when  they  so  stubbornly  persist  in  refusing  to  make 
themselves  acquainted  with  the  truth.' 

'  Why  not?  '  asked  Salvan.  '  I  'm  done  for,  that  's  true. 
It  would  be  useless  for  me  to  make  any  fresh  attempt ;  they 
would  stop  up  their  eyes  and  ears  beforehand  in  order  to 
see  and  hear  nothing.  But  remember  that  you  have  the 
most  powerful  of  helpers,  the  best  of  advocates,  the  shrewd- 


TRUTH  389 

est  of  diplomatists,  the  most  skilful  of  captains,  and  in  fact 
the  most  triumphant  of  conquerors  at  work  in  that  house! ' 

He  laughed,  and,  growing  quite  excited,  resumed:  '  Yes, 
yes,  your  charming  Louise,  whom  I  'm  very  fond  of,  and 
whom  I  regard  as  a  prodigy  of  good  sense  and  grace.  The 
firm  and  yet  gentle  behaviour  of  that  young  girl,  ever  since 
her  twelfth  year,  has  been  that  of  a  heroine.  I  know  of  no 
loftier  or  more  touching  example.  Seldom  does  one  meet 
with  such  precocious  sense  and  courage.  And  she  is  all 
deference  and  affection,  even  when  she  refuses  to  do  what 
her  mother  desires,  by  reason  of  her  promise  to  you  re- 
specting her  first  Communion.  Now  that  she  has  acquired 
the  right  to  keep  that  promise,  you  should  see  how  prettily, 
how  sedately,  she  manoeuvres  to  effect  the  conquest  of  that 
house  where  everybody  is  against  her.  Even  her  grand- 
mother becomes  tired  of  scolding.  But  her  dexterity  is 
most  marvellous  with  her  mother,  whom  she  encompasses 
with  an  active  worship,  with  all  sorts  of  attentions,  as  if 
dealing  with  some  convalescent  patient  whose  physical  and 
moral  strength  must  first  of  all  be  restored,  in  order  that  she 
may  afterwards  return  to  ordinary  life.  She  seldom  speaks 
to  her  mother  of  you,  but  she  accustoms  her  to  live  in  an 
atmosphere  which  is  full  of  you,  full  of  your  thoughts  and 
your  love.  She  is  there  like  your  other  self,  never  pausing 
in  her  endeavours  to  bring  about  the  return  of  the  wife  and 
mother,  by  reconnecting  the  severed  bond  with  her  own 
caressing  hands.  And  if  your  wife  returns  to  you,  my 
friend,  it  will  be  the  child  who  will  bring  her  back,  the  all- 
powerful  child,  whose  presence  ensures  health  and  peace  in 
one's  home.' 

Marc  listened,  feeling  deeply  moved,  and  reviving  to 
hope.  'Ah!  may  it  be  true,'  said  he;  'nevertheless  my 
poor  Genevieve  is  still  very  ill.' 

'  Let  your  little  healer  do  her  work,'  Salvan  responded: 
'  the  kiss  she  gives  her  mother  every  morning  brings  life  with 
it.  ...  If  Genevieve  suffers  such  torture  it  is  because 
life  is  struggling  within  her,  and  wresting  her  a  little  more 
each  day  from  the  deadly  crisis  in  which  you  nearly  lost  her. 
As  soon  as  good  Mother  Nature  triumphs  over  mystical  im- 
becility, she  and  your  children  will  be  in  your  arms. 
Come,  my  friend,  be  brave.  It  would  be  hard  indeed  if, 
after  restoring  poor  Simon  to  his  family,  your  own  domestic 
happiness  should  not  be  assured  by  the  triumph  of  truth  and 
justice.' 


39O  TRUTH 

They  shook  hands  in  brotherly  fashion,  and  Marc,  who 
returned  to  Maillebois  somewhat  comforted,  found  himself 
on  the  morrow  in  the  thick  of  the  fight  again.  The  flight 
of  Brother  Gorgias  had  had  a  disastrous  effect  in  the  little 
town,  and  the  great  days  of  the  affair  were  now  beginning 
afresh.  There  was  not  a  house  whose  inmates  did  not 
quarrel  and  fight  over  the  possible  guilt  of  that  terrible 
Christian  Brother,  who,  in  disappearing  from  the  scene,  had 
impudently  written  to  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  to  explain  that, 
as  his  cowardly  superiors  had  decided  to  abandon  him  to 
his  enemies,  he  was  about  to  place  himself  in  safety,  in  order 
that  he  might  be  free  to  defend  himself  when  and  how  he 
pleased. 

A  much  more  important  feature  of  this  letter  was,  how- 
ever, a  revised  statement  which  Gorgias  made  in  it  to  ac- 
count for  the  presence  of  the  famous  copy-slip  in  the  paper 
gag  found  near  Zephirin's  body.  No  doubt  the  compli- 
cated story  of  a  forgery,  invented  by  his  leaders,  who  were 
unwilling  even  to  admit  that  the  copy-slip  had  come  from 
the  Brothers'  school,  had  always  been  regarded  by  Gorgias 
as  idiotic.  He  must  have  thought  it  stupid  to  deny  the 
origin  of  the  slip  and  the  authenticity  of  the  initialling. 
Although  every  expert  in  the  world  might  ascribe  that 
initialling  to  Simon,  it  would  remain  his,  Gorgias's,  handi- 
work in  the  estimation  of  all  honest  and  sensible  folk. 
However,  as  his  superiors  had  threatened  to  abandon  him 
to  his  own  resources  if  he  did  not  accept  their  version  of 
the  affair,  he  had  resigned  himself  and  relinquished  his  own. 
It  was  to  the  latter  that  he  now  reverted,  for  since  the  miss- 
ing corner  bearing  the  school  stamp  had  been  found  at 
Father  Philibin's,  he  regarded  his  superiors'  version  as 
utterly  ridiculous.  It  seemed  to  him  absurd  to  pretend,  as 
the  Congregations  did,  that  Simon  had  procured  a  stamp, 
or  had  caused  one  to  be  made,  with  the  deliberate  intention 
of  ruining  the  Brothers'  school.  Now,  therefore,  realising 
that  his  supporters  were  on  the  point  of  forsaking  and 
sacrificing  him,  Gorgias  left  them  of  his  own  accord,  and 
by  way  of  intimidation  revealed  a  part  of  the  truth.  His 
new  version,  which  upset  all  the  credulous  readers  of  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais,  was  that  the  copy-slip  had  really  come 
from  the  Brothers',  and  had  been  initialled  by  himself,  but 
that  Ze"phirin  had  assuredly  taken  it  home  with  him  from 
the  school,  even  as  Victor  Milhomme  had  taken  a  similar 
slip,  in  spite  of  all  prohibitions;  and  that  Simon  had  thus 


TRUTH  391 

found  it  on  the  table  in  his  victim's  room  on  the  night  of 
the  abominable  crime. 

A  fortnight  after  the  appearance  of  this  version  the  news- 
paper published  a  fresh  letter  from  Brother  Gorgias.  He 
had  taken  refuge  in  Italy,  he  said;  but  he  abstained  from 
supplying  his  exact  address,  though  he  offered  to  return 
and  give  evidence  at  the  approaching  trial  at  Rozan  if  he 
received  a  formal  guarantee  that  his  liberty  would  not  be 
interfered  with.  In  this  second  letter  he  still  called  Simon 
a  loathsome  Jew,  and  declared  that  he  possessed  over- 
whelming proof  of  his  guilt,  which  proof,  however,  he  would 
only  divulge  to  the  jury  at  the  Assize  Court.  At  the  same 
time  this  did  not  prevent  him  from  referring  to  his  superiors, 
notably  Father  Crabot,  in  aggressive  and  outrageous  terms 
fraught  with  all  the  bitter  violence  of  an  accomplice  once 
willingly  accepted  but  now  cast  off  and  sacrificed.  How 
idiotic,  said  he,  was  their  story  of  a  forged  school  stamp! 
What  a  wretched  falsehood,  when  the  truth  might  well  be 
told !  They  were  fools  and  cowards,  cowards  especially,  for 
had  they  not  acted  with  the  vilest  cowardice  in  abandoning 
him,  Gorgias,  the  faithful  servant  of  God,  after  sacrificing 
both  the  heroic  Father  Philibin  and  the  unhappy  Brother 
Fulgence?  Of  the  latter  he  only  spoke  in  terms  of  indulgent 
contempt;  Fulgence,  said  he,  had  been  a  sorry  individual, 
unhinged,  and  full  of  vanity;  and  the  others,  after  allowing 
him  all  freedom  to  compromise  himself,  had  got  rid  of  him 
by  sending  him  to  some  distant  spot  under  the  pretext  that 
he  was  ill.  As  for  Father  Philibin,  Gorgias  set  him  on  a 
pinnacle,  called  him  his  friend,  a  hero  of  dutifulness,  one 
who  displayed  passive  obedience  to  his  chiefs,  who  on  their 
side  employed  him  for  the  dirtiest  work,  and  struck  him 
down  as  soon  as  it  was  to  their  interest  to  close  his  mouth. 
And  this  hero,  who  was  now  suffering  untold  agony  in  a 
convent  among  the  Apennines,  was  depicted  by  Gorgias  as 
a  martyr  of  the  faith,  even  as  he  had  been  depicted  in 
print,  with  a  palm  and  a  halo,  by  some  of  the  ardent  anti- 
Simonists. 

From  this  point  Gorgias  proceeded  to  glorify  himself  with 
extrardinaory  vehemence,  wild  and  splendid  impudence. 
He  became  superb;  he  displayed  such  a  mixture  of  frank- 
ness and  falsehood,  energy  and  duplicity,  that,  if  the 
fates  had  been  propitious,  this  base  rascal  might  assuredly 
have  become  a  great  man.  Even  as  his  superiors  were 
still  pleased  to  admit,  he  remained  a  model  cleric,  full  of 


392  TRUTH 

admirable,  exclusive,  militant  faith,  one  who  assigned  to  the 
Church  the  royalty  both  of  heaven  and  of  earth,  and  who 
regarded  himself  as  the  Church's  soldier,  privileged  to  do 
everything  in  her  defence.  At  the  head  of  the  Church  was 
the  Deity,  then  came  his  superiors  and  himself,  and  when 
he  had  given  an  account  of  his  actions  to  his  superiors  and 
the  Deity,  the  only  thing  left  for  the  rest  of  the  world  was 
submission.  Moreover,  his  superiors  were  of  no  account 
when  he  deemed  them  to  be  unworthy.  In  that  case  he  re- 
mained alone  in  the  presence  of  heaven.  Thus,  on  days  of 
confession,  when  God  had  absolved  him,  he  regarded  him- 
self as  the  unique,  the  one  pure  man,  who  owed  no  account 
of  his  actions  to  anybody,  and  who  was  above  all  human 
laws.  Was  not  this  indeed  the  essential  Catholic  doctrine, 
according  to  which  the  ministers  of  the  faith  are  rightly 
amenable  to  the  divine  authority  alone?  And  was  it  not 
only  a  Father  Crabot,  full  of  social  cowardice,  who  could 
trouble  himself  about  imbecile  human  justice,  and  the  stupid 
opinions  of  the  multitude? 

In  this  second  letter,  moreover,  Brother  Gorgias  admitted, 
with  a  serene  lack  of  shame,  that  he  himself  occasionally 
sinned.  He  then  beat  his  breast,  cried  aloud  that  he  was 
but  a  wolf  and  a  hog,  and  humbly  cast  himself  in  the  dust 
at  the  feet  of  God.  Having  thus  made  atonement,  he  be- 
came tranquil  and  continued  to  serve  the  Church  in  all 
holiness  until  the  clay  of  creation  cast  him  into  sin  again, 
whereupon  fresh  absolution  became  necessary.  But  in  any 
case  he  was  at  least  a  loyal  Catholic,  he  had  the  courage  to 
confess,  and  the  strength  to  endure  penitence,  whereas  all 
those  dignitaries  of  the  Church,  those  Superiors  of  the  Re- 
ligious Orders,  of  whom  he  complained  so  bitterly,  were 
liars  and  poltroons,  who  trembled  before  the  consequences 
of  their  transgressions — who,  like  base  hypocrites,  concealed 
them  or  else  cast  them  upon  others  in  their  terror  of  the 
judgment  of  men. 

At  the  outset  Brother  Gorgias's  passionate  recriminations 
had  seemed  to  be  prompted  merely  by  his  anger  at  being 
so  brutally  abandoned  after  serving  as  a  docile  instrument; 
but  at  present  veiled  threats  began  to  mingle  with  his  re- 
proaches. If  he  himself  had  always  paid  for  his  transgres- 
sions like  a  good  Christian,  there  were  others,  he  said,  who 
had  not  done  so.  Yet  some  day  assuredly  they  would  be 
forced  to  make  atonement,  should  they  continue  to  try  the 
patience  of  heaven,  which  would  well  know  how  to  set  up 


TRUTH  393 

an  avenger,  a  justiciary  to  proclaim  the  unconfessed,  un- 
punished crimes.  In  saying  this  Gorgias  was  evidently 
alluding  to  Father  Crabot  and  the  mysterious  story  of  the 
acquisition  of  the  Countess  de  Qu^deville's  immense  fortune 
— that  splendid  domain  of  Valmarie,  where  the  Jesuit  Col- 
lege had  been  subsequently  established. 

Several  confused  versions  of  that  story  had  been  current, 
and  certain  particulars  were  now  recalled :  The  old  but  still 
beautiful  Countess  becoming  extremely  pious,  and  engaging 
Father  Philibin,  then  a  young  man,  as  tutor  to  her  grand- 
son, Gaston,  the  last  of  the  Que"devilles,  who  was  barely 
nine  years  old.  Next,  Father  Crabot  arriving  at  the 
chateau  and  becoming  the  confessor,  the  friend,  and  some 
even  said  the  lover,  of  the  still  beautiful  Countess.  Finally, 
the  accident,  the  death  of  little  Gaston,  who  had  been 
drowned  while  walking  out  with  his  tutor,  his  death  allow- 
ing his  grandmother  to  bequeath  the  family  estate  and  for- 
tune to  Father  Crabot,  through  the  medium  of  a  clerical 
banker  of  Beaumont.  And  it  was  also  remembered  that 
among  little  Gaston's  playmates  there  had  been  a  game- 
keeper's son,  a  lad  named  Georges  Plumet,  whom  the 
Jesuits  of  Valmarie  subsequently  protected  and  assisted, 
and  who  was  none  other  than  the  present  Brother  Gorgias. 

The  latter's  violent  language  and  threatening  manner  re- 
called all  those  half-forgotten  incidents,  and  revived  the 
old  suspicion  that  some  dark  deed  might  link  the  game- 
keeper's humble  son  to  the  powerful  clerics  who  ruled  the 
region.  Would  that  not  explain  the  protection  which  they 
had  so  long  given  him,  the  audacious  manner  in  which  they 
had  shielded  him,  and  at  last  even  made  his  cause  their 
own?  Doubtless  their  first  impulse  had  been  to  save  the 
Church,  but  a  little  later  they  had  done  their  utmost  to 
make  that  terrible  Ignorantine  appear  innocent;  and  if  they 
had  now  sacrificed  him,  it  must  be  because  they  deemed  it 
impossible  to  defend  him  any  longer.  Perhaps,  too,  Brother 
Gorgias  only  wished  to  alarm  them  in  order  to  wring  from 
them  as  much  money  as  possible.  That  he  did  alarm  them 
was  certain;  one  could  detect  that  they  were  greatly  dis- 
turbed by  the  letters  and  articles  of  that  dreadful  chatterer, 
who  was  ever  ready  to  beat  his  breast  and  cry  his  sinfulness 
and  that  of  others  aloud.  Moreover,  in  spite  of  the  seem- 
ing abandonment  in  which  he  was  left,  one  could  divine 
that  he  was  still  protected,  powerfully  even  if  secretly; 
while  his  sudden  intervals  of  silence,  which  lasted  at  times 


394  TRUTH 

for  weeks,  plainly  indicated  that  friendly  messages  and 
money  had  been  sent  to  him. 

His  admissions  and  his  threats  quite  upset  the  rank  and 
file  of  the  clerical  faction.  It  was  horrible!  He  profaned 
the  temple,  he  exposed  the  secrets  of  the  tabernacle  to  the 
unhealthy  curiosity  of  unbelievers!  Nevertheless,  a  good 
many  devout  folk  remained  attached  to  him,  impressed  by 
the  uncompromising  faith  with  which  he  bowed  to  God 
alone,  and  refused  to  recognise  any  of  the  so-called  rights 
of  human  society.  Besides,  why  should  one  not  accept  his 
version  of  the  affair,  his  admission  that  he  had  really  in- 
itialled the  copy-slip,  that  it  had  been  carried  away  by 
Zephirin,  and  utilised  by  Simon  for  a  diabolical  purpose? 
This  version  was  less  ridiculous  than  that  of  his  superiors: 
it  even  supplied  an  excuse  for  what  Father  Philibin  had 
done,  for  one  could  picture  the  latter  losing  his  head,  and 
tearing  off  the  stamped  corner  of  the  slip,  in  a  moment  of 
blind  zeal  for  the  safety  of  his  holy  mother,  the  Church. 

To  tell  the  truth,  however,  a  far  greater  number  of  lay- 
men, those  who  were  faithful  to  Father  Crabot,  as  well  as 
nearly  all  the  priests  and  other  clerics  clung  stubbornly  to 
the  Jesuits'  revised  version  of  the  incident — that  of  Simon 
forging  the  paraph,  and  using  a  false  stamp.  It  was  an  ab- 
surd idea,  but  the  readers  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  became 
all  the  more  impassioned  over  it,  for  the  invention  of  a  false 
stamp  added  yet  another  glaring  improbability  to  the  affair. 
Every  morning  the  newspaper  repeated  imperturbably  that 
material  proofs  existed  of  the  making  of  that  false  stamp,  and 
that  the  recondemnation  of  Simon  by  the  Rozan  Assize 
Court  could  no  longer  be  a  matter  of  doubt  for  anybody. 

The  rallying  word  had  been  passed  round,  and  all  '  right- 
minded  '  people  made  a  show  of  believing  that  the  Brothers' 
school  would  triumph  as  soon  as  the  impious  adversaries  of 
the  unfortunate  Brother  Gorgias  should  be  confounded. 
The  school  greatly  needed  such  a  victory,  for,  discredited 
as  it  was  by  the  semi-confessions  and  unpleasant  discoveries 
of  recent  times,  it  had  just  lost  two  more  of  its  pupils. 
Only  the  final  overthrow  of  Simon  and  his  return  to  the 
galleys  could  restore  its  lustre.  Until  then  it  was  fit  that 
Brother  Fulgence's  successor  should  remain  patiently  in 
the  background,  while  Father  The"odose,  the  Superior  of  the 
Capuchins, — who  also  triumphed,  even  when  others  were 
being  ruined, — skilfully  exploited  the  situation  by  urging  his 
devotees  to  make  little  periodical  offerings,  such  for  instance 


TRUTH  395 

as  two  francs  a  month,  to  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  in  order 
that  the  saint  might  exert  his  influence  to  keep  the  good 
Brothers'  school  at  Maillebois. 

However,  the  most  serious  incident  of  the  turmoil  in  the 
town  was  supplied  by  Abb£  Quandieu,  who  had  long  been 
regarded  as  a  prudent  Simonist.  At  that  time  it  had  been 
said  that  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  the  Bishop,  was  behind 
him,  even  as  Father  Crabot  was  behind  the  Capuchins  and 
the  Brothers  of  the  Christian  Doctrine.  As  usual,  indeed, 
the  Seculars  and  the  Regulars  confronted  each  other,  the 
priests  resenting  the  efforts  which  were  made  by  the  monks 
to  divert  all  worship  and  revenue  to  their  own  profit.  And 
in  this  instance,  as  in  fact  in  all  others,  the  better  cause 
was  that  of  the  priests,  whose  conception  of  the  religion  of 
Christ  was  more  equitable  and  human  than  that  of  the 
monks.  Nevertheless,  Monseigneur  Bergerot  had  been  de- 
feated, and  by  his  advice  Abb£  Quandieu  had  submitted 
and  had  done  penance  by  attending  an  idolatrous  ceremony 
at  the  Capuchin  Chapel. 

But  all  the  disastrous  disclosures  and  occurrences  of  re- 
cent times — first  Father  Philibin  shown  guilty  of  perjury 
and  forgery,  then  Brother  Fulgence  spirited  away  after 
compromising  himself,  then,  too,  Brother  Gorgias  abscond- 
ing and  almost  confessing  his  guilt — had  stirred  the  parish 
priest  of  Maillebois  to  rebellion,  and  revived  his  former  be- 
lief in  Simon's  innocence.  Nevertheless  he  would  probably 
have  remained  silent,  in  a  spirit  of  discipline,  if  Abbe"  Cog- 
nasse,  the  priest  of  Jonville,  had  not  gone  out  of  his  way  to 
allude  to  him  in  a  sermon,  saying  that  an  apostate  priest,  a 
hireling  of  the  Jews,  a  traitor  to  his  God  and  his  country, 
was  unhappily  at  the  head  of  a  neighbouring  parish.  On 
hearing  this,  Abb6  Quandieu's  Christian  ardour  asserted 
itself;  he  could  no  longer  control  the  grief  he  felt  at  seeing 
'the  dealers  of  the  Temple,'  as  he  called  them,  betraying 
the  Saviour  who  was  all  truth  and  justice.  Thus,  in  his 
sermon  on  the  following  Sunday,  he  spoke  of  certain  baleful 
men  who  were  slaying  the  Church  by  their  abominable  com- 
plicity with  the  perpetrators  of  the  vilest  crimes.  One  may 
picture  the  scandal,  the  agitation,  that  ensued  in  the  clerical 
world,  particularly  as  it  was  asserted  that  Monseigneur  Ber- 
gerot was  again  behind  Abb£  Quandieu,  and  was  determined 
this  time  that  fanatical  and  malignant  sectarians  should  not 
be  allowed  to  compromise  religion  any  further. 

At  last,  while  passion  was  thus  running  riot,  the  new  trial 


396  TRUTH 

began  before  the  Rozan  Assize  Court.  It  had  been  possible 
to  bring  Simon  back  to  France,  though  he  was  still  ailing, 
imperfectly  cured  as  yet  of  the  exhausting  fevers  which  had 
delayed  his  return  for  nearly  a  year.  During  the  voyage  it 
had  been  feared  that  he  would  not  be  put  ashore  alive. 
Moreover,  for  fear  of  disorder,  violence,  and  outrage,  it 
had  been  necessary  to  practise  dissimulation  with  respect  to 
the  spot  where  he  would  land,  and  bring  him  to  Rozan  at 
night  time  by  roundabout  ways  which  none  suspected.  At 
present  he  was  in  prison  near  the  Palace  of  Justice,  having 
only  a  street  to  cross  in  order  to  appear  before  his  judges. 
And  pending  that  event  he  was  closely  watched  and  guarded, 
defended  also,  like  the  important  and  disquieting  personage 
he  had  become,  one  with  whose  fate  that  of  the  whole  nation 
was  bound  up. 

The  first  person  privileged  to  see  him  was  Rachel  his 
wife,  whom  that  reunion,  after  so  many  frightful  years,  cast 
into  wild  emotion.  Ah !  what  an  embrace  they  exchanged ! 
And  how  great  was  the  grief  she  displayed  after  that  visit, 
so  thin,  so  weak  had  she  found  him,  so  aged,  too,  with  his 
white  hair!  And  he  had  showed  himself  so  strange,  igno- 
rant as  he  still  was  of  the  facts,  for  the  brief  communication 
by  which  the  Court  of  Cassation  had  informed  him  of  the 
approaching  revision  of  his  case  had  given  no  particulars. 
It  had  not  surprised  him  to  hear  of  the  revision,  he  had 
always  felt  that  it  would  some  day  take  place ;  and  this  con- 
viction, in  spite  of  all  his  tortures,  had  lent  him  the  strength 
to  live  in  order  that  he  might  once  more  see  his  children 
and  give  them  back  a  spotless  name.  But  how  dark  was 
the  anguish  in  which  he  had  remained  plunged,  his  mind 
ever  dwelling  on  the  frightful  enigma  of  his  condemnation, 
which  he  could  not  unravel!  His  brother  David  and  Ad- 
vocate Delbos,  who  hastened  to  the  prison,  ended  by 
acquainting  him  with  the  whole  monstrous  affair,  the  terri- 
ble war  which  had  been  waged  for  years  respecting  his  case, 
between  those  perpetual  foes,  the  men  of  authoritarian  views 
who  defended  the  rotten  edifice  of  the  past,  and  the  men 
of  free  thought  who  went  towards  the  future.  Then  only 
did  Simon  understand  the  truth  and  come  to  regard  his 
personal  sufferings  as  mere  incidents,  whose  only  importance 
arose  from  the  fact  that  they  had  led  to  a  splendid  uprising 
in  the  name  of  justice,  which  would  benefit  all  mankind. 
Moreover,  he  did  not  willingly  speak  of  his  torments;  he 
had  suffered  less  from  his  companions,  the  thieves  and 


TRUTH  397 

murderers  around  him,  than  from  his  keepers,  those  fero- 
cious brutes  who  were  left  free  to  act  as  they  pleased,  and 
who,  like  disciples  of  the  Marquis  de  Sade,  took  a  voluptu- 
ous delight  in  torturing  and  killing  with  impunity.  Had  it 
not  been  for  the  strength  of  resistance  which  Simon  owed 
to  racial  heredity,  and  his  cold  logical  temperament,  he 
would  twenty  times  have  provoked  his  custodians  to  shoot 
him  dead.  And  at  present  he  talked  of  all  those  things  in 
a  quiet  way,  and  evinced  a  naive  astonishment  on  being 
told  of  the  extraordinary  complications  of  the  drama  of 
which  he  was  the  victim. 

Having  secured  a  citation  as  a  witness,  Marc  obtained 
leave  of  absence,  and,  a  few  days  before  the  trial  began,  he 
took  up  his  abode  at  Rozan,  where  he  found  David  and 
•  Delbos  already  in  the  thick  of  the  supreme  battle.  He  was 
surprised  by  the  nervousness  and  anxious  thoughtfulness 
of  David,  who  was  usually  so  brave  and  calm.  And  it 
seemed  to  him  that  Delbos,  as  a  rule  so  gaily  valiant,  was 
likewise  uneasy.  As  a  matter  of  fact  it  was  for  the  latter  a 
very  big  affair,  in  which  he  risked  both  his  position  as  an 
advocate  and  his  increasing  popularity  as  a  Socialist  leader. 
If  he  should  win  the  case  he  would  doubtless  end  by  beating 
Lemarrois  at  Beaumont;  but  unfortunately  all  sorts  of  dis- 
quieting symptoms  were  becoming  manifest.  Indeed  Marc 
himself,  after  reaching  Rozan  full  of  hope,  soon  began  to 
feel  alarmed  amid  his  new  surroundings. 

Elsewhere,  even  at  Maillebois,  the  acquittal  of  Simon  ap- 
peared certain  to  everybody  possessed  of  any  sense.  Father 
Crabot's  clients,  in  their  private  converse,  did  not  conceal 
the  fact  that  they  felt  their  cause  to  be  greatly  endangered. 
The  best  news  also  came  from  Paris,  where. the  Ministers 
regarded  a  just  denouement  as  certain,  lulled  into  confidence 
as  they  were  by  their  agents'  reports  respecting  the  Court 
and  the  jury.  But  the  atmosphere  was  very  different  at 
Rozan,  where  an  odour  of  falsehood  and  treachery  per- 
vaded the  streets,  and  found  its  way  into  the  depths  of 
men's  souls.  This  town,  once  the  capital  of  a  province, 
and  now  greatly  fallen  from  its  former  importance,  had  re- 
tained all  its  monarchical  and  religious  faith,  all  the  anti- 
quated fanaticism  of  a  past  age,  which  elsewhere  had 
disappeared.1  Thus  it  supplied  an  excellent  battle-ground 

1  If  proof  were  wanted  to  show  that  by  Rozan  M.  Zola  means  Rennes, 
the  fanatical  ex-capital  of  Brittany,  it  would  be  found  in  the  passage 
given  above. —  Trans. 


398  TRUTH 

for  the  Congregations,  which  absolutely  needed  a  decisive 
victory  if  they  were  to  retain  their  teaching  privileges  and 
control  the  future.  And  never  had  Marc  more  fully 
realised  how  deeply  Rome  was  interested  in  winning  that 
battle;  never  had  he  more  plainly  detected  that  behind  the 
slightest  incidents  of  that  interminable  and  monstrous  affair 
there  was  papal  Rome,  clinging  stubbornly  to  its  dream  of 
universal  domination — Rome  which,  at  every  step  over  the 
paving-stones  of  Rozan,  he  found  at  work  there,  whispering, 
striving,  and  conquering. 

Delbos  and  David  advised  him  to  observe  extreme  pru- 
dence. They  themselves  were  guarded  by  detectives  for 
fear  of  some  ambush;  and  he,  on  the  very  morrow  of  his 
arrival,  found  shadowy  forms  hovering  around  him.  Was 
he  not  Simon's  successor,  the  secular  schoolmaster,  the 
enemy  of  which  the  Church  must  rid  itself  if  it  desired  to 
triumph?  And  the  stealthy  hatred  by  which  Marc  felt 
himself  to  be  encompassed,  the  menace  of  an  evil  blow  in 
some  dark  corner,  sufficed  to  show  him  that  the  battle 
had  sunk  to  the  very  lowest  level,  and  that  his  adversaries 
were  indeed  those  men  of  blind,  bigoted  violence,  who 
through  the  ages  had  tortured,  burnt,  and  murdered  their 
fellow-beings  in  their  mad  dream  of  staying  the  march  of 
mankind ! 

That  much  established,  Marc  understood  the  terror 
weighing  on  the  town,  the  dismal  aspect  of  its  houses, 
whose  shutters  remained  closed,  as  if  an  epidemic  were 
raging.  As  a  rule,  there  is  little  animation  in  Rozan  during 
the  summer,  and  at  that  moment  the  town  seemed  emptier 
than  ever.  Pedestrians  hastened  their  steps,  glancing 
anxiously  around  them  as  they  went  their  way  in  the  broad 
sunshine;  shopkeepers  stood  at  their  windows,  inspecting 
the  streets  as  if  they  feared  some  massacre.  The  selection 
of  the  jury  particularly  upset  those  trembling  folk;  there 
was  much  melancholy  jogging  of  heads  when  the  names  of 
the  chosen  jurors  were  made  public.  It  was  evidently  con- 
sidered a  disaster  to  have  one  among  one's  relatives. 

Churchgoers  abounded  among  the  petty  rentiers,  manu- 
facturers, and  tradespeople  of  that  clerical  centre,  where 
lack  of  religion  was  regarded  as  a  shameful  blot,  and  proved 
extremely  prejudicial  to  one's  pecuniary  interests.  Frantic 
was  the  pressure  exercised  by  mothers  and  wives,  led  by  all 
the  priests,  abb£s,  and  monks  of  the  six  parish  churches  and 
the  thirty  convents,  whose  bells  were  always  ringing.  At 


TRUTH  399 

Beaumont,  in  former  times,  the  Church  had  been  obliged 
to  work  with  some  discretion,  for  it  had  found  itself  in  the 
presence  of  both  an  old  Voltairean  bourgeoisie  and  of  revo- 
lutionary faubourgs.  But  there  was  no  need  for  it  to  beat 
about  the  bush  in  that  sleepy  city  of  Rozan,  whose  tradi- 
tions were  entirely  pious.  The  workmen's  wives  went  to 
Mass,  the  women  of  the  middle  class  formed  all  sorts  of  re- 
ligious associations;  and  thus  a  holy  crusade  began;  none 
refused  to  help  in  defeating  Simon.  A  week  before  the 
trial  the  whole  town  had  become  a  battlefield ;  there  was 
not  a  house  that  did  not  witness  some  combat  waged  for  the 
good  cause.  The  wretched  jurors  shut  themselves  up,  no 
longer  daring  to  go  out,  for  strangers  accosted  them  in  the 
streets,  terrified  them  with  evil  glances  or  passing  words,  in 
which  there  lurked  a  threat  to  punish  them  in  their  pockets 
or  their  persons  if  they  did  not  behave  as  good  Catholics, 
and  re-condemn  the  dirty  Jew. 

Marc  was  rendered  yet  more  anxious  by  some  information 
he  received  respecting  Counsellor  Guybaraud,  who  was  to 
preside  over  the  Assize  Court,  and  Procureur  Pacart,  who 
was  to  conduct  the  prosecution.  The  first  had  been  a  pupil 
of  the  Valmarie  Jesuits,  to  whom  he  owed  his  rapid  promo- 
tion, and  had  married  a  very  wealthy  and  very  pious  hunch- 
backed girl,  whom  he  had  received  from  their  hands.  The 
latter,  an  ex-demagogue,  had  been  vaguely  compromised  in 
some  gambling  affair,  and,  becoming  a  frantic  anti-semite, 
had  rallied  to  the  Church,  from  which  he  expected  a  post 
in  Paris.  Marc  felt  particularly  distrustful  of  Pacart  on 
observing  how  insidiously  the  anti-Simonists  affected  anxiety 
respecting  his  attitude,  as  if  indeed  they  feared  some  revival 
of  his  revolutionary  past.  While  they  never  ceased  praising 
the  lofty  conscientiousness  of  Guybaraud,  they  spoke  of 
Pacart  with  all  sorts  of  reservations,  in  order,  no  doubt,  to 
enable  him  to  play  the  heroic  part  of  an  honest  man,  over- 
come by  the  force  of  truth,  on  the  day  when  he  would  have 
to  ask  the  jury  for  Simon's  head.  The  very  circumstance 
that  the  clericals  went  about  Rozan  dolefully  repeating  that 
Pacart  was  not  on  their  side  made  Marc  distrustful,  for  in- 
formation from  a  good  source  had  acquainted  him  with  the 
undoubted  venality  of  this  man,  who  was  ready  for  the 
vilest  bargaining  in  his  eager  desire  to  regain  a  semblance  of 
honour  in  some  high  position. 

However,  the  desperate  and  deadly  battle  became  at  Rozan 
a  subterranean  one.  The  affair  was  not  lightly  prosecuted 


400  TRUTH 

in  drawing-rooms  among  the  smiles  of  ladies,  as  at  Beau- 
mont. Nor  was  there  any  question  of  a  liberal  prelate  like 
Monseigneur  Bergerot  resisting  the  Congregations  from  a 
dread  lest  the  Church  should  be  submerged  and  swept  away 
by  the  rising  tide  of  base  superstition.  This  time  the  con- 
test was  carried  on  in  the  darkness  in  which  great  social 
crimes  take  their  course;  all  that  appeared  on  the  surface 
was  some  turbid  ebullition,  a  kind  of  terror  sweeping  through 
the  streets  as  through  a  city  stricken  with  a  pestilence. 
And  Marc's  anguish  arose  particularly  from  that  circum- 
stance. Instead  of  again  witnessing  the  resounding  clash 
of  Simonists  and  anti-Simonists,  as  at  Beaumont,  he  was 
confronted  by  the  stealthy  preparations  for  a  dark  crime, 
for  which  a  Guybaraud  and  a  Pacart  were  doubtless  the 
necessary  chosen  instruments. 

Every  evening  David  and  Delbos  repaired  to  the  large 
room  which  Marc  had  rented  in  a  lonely  street,  and  ardent 
friends  of  all  classes  surrounded  them.  These  formed  the 
little  sacred  phalanx ;  each  visitor  brought  some  news,  con- 
tributed suggestions  and  courage.  They  were  determined 
that  they  would  not  despair.  Indeed,  after  an  evening 
spent  together  they  felt  inspirited,  ready  for  fresh  encounters. 
And  they  were  aware  that  their  enemies  met  in  a  neighbour- 
ing street,  at  the  house  of  a  brother-in-law  of  Judge  Gragnon, 
who,  having  been  summoned  as  a  witness  by  the  defence, 
was  staying  there,  receiving  all  the  militant  anti-Simonists 
of  the  town — a  procession  of  frocks  and  gowns  that  slipped 
into  the  house  as  soon  as  night  had  fallen.  Father  Crabot 
had  slept  there  twice,  it  was  said,  and  had  then  returned 
to  Valmarie,  where  with  a  great  display  of  humility  he  had 
cloistered  himself  in  penitence. 

Suspicious  characters  prowled  about  that  sparsely  popu- 
lated district;  the  streets  were  not  safe;  and,  accordingly, 
when  David  and  Delbos  quitted  Marc  at  night,  their  friends 
accompanied  them  home  in  a  band.  One  night  a  shot  was 
fired;  but  the  detectives,  though  always  on  the  watch,  could 
find  nobody  to  arrest.  But  the  favourite  weapon  of  the 
priests  is  venomous  slander,  moral  murder,  perpetrated  in 
a  cowardly  fashion  in  the  dark.  And  Delbos  became  the 
chosen  victim.  On  the  very  day  when  the  trial  was  to  be- 
gin, the  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  which  reached 
Rozan  contained  an  abominable  disclosure,  full  of  men- 
dacity, a  shamefully  travestied  story,  half  a  century  old, 
about  the  advpcate's  father.  The  elder  Delbos,  though  of 


TRUTH  401 

peasant  stock,  had  become  a  goldsmith,  in  a  small  way,  in 
the  neighbourhood  of  the  Bishop's  residence  at  Beaumont; 
and  the  newspaper  charged  him  with  having  made  away 
with  certain  sacred  vessels  which  had  been  entrusted  to  him 
for  repair.  The  truth  was  that  the  goldsmith,  robbed  by  a 
woman  whom  he  was  unwilling  to  denounce,  had  found  him- 
self obliged  to  pay  the  value  of  the  stolen  goods.  There 
had  been  no  prosecution;  the  affair  had  remained  obscure; 
but  one  had  to  read  that  filthy  print  to  realise  to  what  depths 
of  malevolence  and  ignominy  certain  men  could  descend. 
That  painful,  forgotten,  buried  misfortune  of  the  father's 
was  cast  in  the  face  of  the  son  with  an  abundance  of  spurious 
particulars,  vile  imaginings,  set  forth  in  language  which  was 
all  outrage  and  mire.  And  the  desecrator  of  the  grave,  the 
murderously-minded  libeller  who  wrote  those  things,  had 
plainly  obtained  the  documents  he  published  from  the  very 
hands  of  Father  Crabot,  to  whom  they  had  been  communi- 
cated, no  doubt,  by  some  priestly  archivist.  It  was  hoped 
that  this  unexpected  bludgeon-blow  would  strike  Delbos 
full  in  the  heart,  assassinate  him  morally,  discredit  him  as 
an  advocate,  annihilate  him  to  such  a  point  that  he  would 
have  neither  the  strength  to  speak  nor  the  authority  to  gain 
a  hearing  in  the  defence  of  Simon. 

However,  the  trial  began  one  Monday,  a  hot  day  in  July. 
Apart  from  Gragnon,  whom  it  was  intended  to  confront 
with  Jacquin,  the  foreman  of  the  first  jury,  several  witnesses 
had  been  cited  for  the  defence.  Mignot,  Mile.  Rouzaire, 
Daix,  Mauraisin,  Salvan,  Sebastien  and  Victor  Milhomme, 
Polydor  Souquet,  the  younger  Bongards,  Doloirs,  and  Savins 
were  all  on  the  list.  Fathers  Crabot  and  Philibin,  Brothers 
Fulgence  and  Gorgias  had  also  been  cited,  though  it  was 
known  that  the  last  three  would  not  appear.  On  the  other 
side  the  Procureur  de  la  Re'publique  had  contented  himself 
with  recalling  the  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  who  had 
given  evidence  at  the  first  trial.  And  the  streets  of  Rozan 
had  at  last  become  animated  with  witnesses,  journalists,  and 
inquisitive  folk,  arriving  in  fresh  batches  by  each  succeeding 
train.  Already  at  six  o'clock  in  the  morning  a  crowd  as- 
sembled near  the  Palace  of  Justice  eager  to  catch  a  glimpse 
of  Simon.  But  a  considerable  military  force  had  been  set 
on  foot,  the  street  was  cleared,  and  Simon  crossed  it  between 
two  rows  of  soldiers,  set  so  closely  together  that  none  of  the 
onlookers  could  distinguish  his  features.  It  was  then  eight 

o'clock.     That  early  hour  had   been  chosen  in  order  to 
16 


402  TRUTH 

avoid  the  oppressive  heat  of  the  afterpart  of  the  day  when 
one  would  have  stifled  in  the  court-room. 

The  scene  was  very  different  from  that  presented  by  the 
brand  new  assize-hall  of  Beaumont,  where  a  profusion  of 
gilding  had  glittered  in  the  crude  light  that  streamed  in  by 
the  lofty  windows.  At  Rozan  the  assizes  were  held  in  an 
ancient  feudal  castle ;  the  hall  was  small  and  low,  panelled 
with  old  oak,  and  scarcely  lighted  by  the  windows  of  a  few 
deep  bays.  One  might  have  thought  the  place  to  be  one  of 
those  dark  chapels  where  the  Inquisition  pronounced  sen- 
tence. Only  a  few  ladies  could  possibly  be  admitted,  and 
all  of  them,  moreover,  wore  sombre  garb.  Most  of  the 
seats  were  occupied  by  the  witnesses,  and  even  the  little 
standing-room  usually  allowed  to  the  public  had  to  be  cur- 
tailed. The  audience,  packed  since  seven  o'clock  in  that 
stern  and  mournful  room,  preserved  a  relative  silence, 
through  which  swept  a  stealthy  quiver.  If  the  eyes  of  the 
onlookers  remained  ardent  their  gestures  were  restrained; 
they  had  come  there  for  a  subterranean  execution,  a  work 
of  suppression  which  had  to  be  accomplished  far  from  the 
light,  with  the  least  noise  possible. 

As  soon  as  Marc  was  seated  beside  David,  who  went  in 
with  the  witnesses,  he  experienced  a  feeling  of  anguish,  a 
stifling  sensation,  as  if  the  walls  were  about  to  crumble  and 
bury  them.  He  had  seen  all  eyes  turn  in  their  direction. 
David,  particularly,  aroused  great  curiosity.  Then  Marc 
felt  moved,  for  Delbos  had  just  come  in,  looking  pale  but 
resolute  amid  the  evil  glances  of  most  of  the  spectators,  who 
were  eager  to  ascertain  if  he  had  been  upset  by  the  infamous 
article  which  had  appeared  that  morning.  However,  the 
advocate,  as  if  arrayed  in  an  armour  of  valour  and  con- 
tempt, remained  for  some  time  standing  there,  displaying 
only  smiling  strength  and  indifference. 

Marc  then  interested  himself  in  the  jurors,  scrutinising 
them  as  they  entered,  one  by  one,  anxious  as  he  was  to 
ascertain  to  what  kind  of  men  the  great  task  of  reparation 
was  confided.  And  he  perceived  the  insignificant  faces  of 
various  petty  tradespeople,  petty  bourgeois,  with  a  chemist, 
a  veterinary  surgeon,  and  two  retired  captains.  On  all 
those  faces  one  found  an  expression  of  mournful  disquietude, 
the  signs  of  a  desire  to  hide  internal  perturbation.  The 
worries  which  had  assailed  those  men  since  their  names  had 
become  known  had  pursued  them  to  that  hall.  Several 
had  the  wan  countenances  of  devotees,  of  shaven,  canting 


TRUTH  403 

beadles,  while  others,  red  and  corpulent,  looked  as  if  they 
had  doubled  their  usual  ration  of  brandy  that  morning  in 
order  to  instil  a  little  courage  into  their  paunches.  Behind 
them  one  could  divine  the  entirety  of  that  old  priestly  and 
military  city  with  its  convents  and  its  barracks;  and  one 
shuddered  to  think  that  those  men,  whose  minds  and  con- 
sciences had  been  deformed,  stifled,  by  their  surroundings, 
should  be  entrusted  with  such  a  work  of  justice. 

But  a  buzzing  spread  through  the  hall,  and  all  at  once 
Marc  experienced  the  most  poignant  thrill  of  emotion  he 
had  ever  known.  He  had  not  seen  Simon  since  his  return, 
and  now  he  suddenly  perceived  him,  standing  behind  Del- 
bos.  And  terrible  was  the  apparition  of  that  bent  and 
emaciated  little  man,  with  ravaged  features  and  bald 
cranium,  on  which  only  a  few  scanty  white  locks  remained. 
What !  that  wreck,  that  puny  remnant  of  a  man  was  his  old 
comrade,  whom  he  had  known  so  vivacious  and  refined! 
If  Simon  had  never  possessed  any  great  physical  gifts,  if  his 
voice  had  been  weak,  his  gestures  inelegant,  at  least  a  brazier 
of  youth  and  faith  had  glowed  within  him.  And  the  galleys 
had  only  given  back  that  poor,  broken,  crushed  being,  a 
mere  shred  of  humanity,  in  whom  nought  of  the  past  sub- 
sisted save  two  flaming  eyes,  which  alone  proclaimed  the 
invincible  will  and  courage  he  preserved.  One  recognised 
him  only  by  those  eyes;  and  they,  too,  explained  how  he 
had  been  able  for  so  many  years  to  resist  suffering,  for  their 
expression  told  of  the  world  of  fancy,  of  pure  ideality,  in 
which  he  had  always  lived.  Every  glance  was  turned  upon 
him,  but  he  did  not  seem  conscious  of  it,  such  was  the 
power  he  possessed  of  isolating  himself.  He  gazed  at  the 
assembly  in  an  absent-minded  way  until  at  last  a  smile  of 
infinite  tenderness  came  over  his  face  as  he  perceived  his 
brother  David.  Marc,  who  sat  beside  the  latter,  then  felt 
him  tremble  in  every  limb. 

It  was  a  quarter  past  eight  o'clock  when  the  usher's  call 
rang  out,  and  the  Court  entered.  The  assembly  arose  and 
then  sat  down  again.  Marc,  who  remembered  the  violence 
of  the  spectators  at  Beaumont,  who  from  growls  had  passed 
to  vociferations,  was  astonished  by  the  heavy  quietude  pre- 
served by  the  present  onlookers,  though  he  divined  that 
they  were  swayed  by  the  same  passions,  and  remained  mutely 
eager  for  slaughter,  as  if  they  were  lying  in  ambush  in  some 
sombre  nook.  The  sight  of  the  prisoner  had  scarcely  wrung 
a  low  murmur  from  them;  and  now  while  the  judges  took 


404  TRUTH 

their  seats,  they  relapsed  into  their  attitude  of  dark  ex- 
pectancy. Again,  compared  with  the  rough  and  jovial 
Gragnon,  the  new  presiding  judge,  Guybaraud,  surprised 
one  by  his  perfect  courtesy,  his  unctuous  gestures,  his  in- 
sinuating speech.  He  was  a  little  man,  whose  manner  was 
all  smiles  and  gentleness,  but  an  odour  of  the  sacristies 
seemed  to  emanate  from  his  person,  and  his  grey  eyes  were 
as  cold  and  as  cutting  as  steel.  Nor  was  the  difference 
less  remarkable  between  the  former  Procureur  de  la  Re"- 
publique,  the  brilliant  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere,  and  Pacart, 
the  present  one,  who  was  very  long,  slender,  and  lean,  with 
a  yellow,  baked  face,  as  if  he  were  consumed  by  a  desire  to 
efface  his  equivocal  past  and  make  a  rapid  fortune. 

After  the  first  formalities,  when  the  jury  had  been  em- 
panelled, an  usher  called  the  names  of  the  witnesses,  who, 
one  by  one,  withdrew.  Marc,  like  the  others,  had  to  leave 
the  hall.  Then,  in  a  leisurely  way,  President  Guybaraud 
began  to  interrogate  Simon,  putting  his  questions  in  a  tone 
of  voice  that  suggested  the  coldness  of  a  blade,  handled 
with  deadly  skill  and  precision.  That  interminable  ex- 
amination, which  lingered  over  the  slightest  incidents  of  the 
old  affair,  and  insisted  on  the  charge  which  the  inquiry  of 
the  Court  of  Cassation  had  destroyed,  proved  quite  a  sur- 
prise. Some  clearing  of  the  ground,  an  examination  on  the 
questions  set  by  the  supreme  jurisdiction,  was  all  that  had 
been  expected;  but  it  at  once  became  evident  that  the 
Assize  Court  of  Rozan  did  not  intend  to  take  any  account 
of  the  facts  established  by  that  jurisdiction,  and  that  the 
presiding  judge  meant  to  avail  himself  of  his  discretionary 
powers  to  deal  with  the  entire  case  from  the  very  beginning. 
Soon,  indeed,  by  the  questions  which  he  asked,  one  under- 
stood that  nothing  of  the  old  indictment  had  been  re- 
linquished. It  was  again  alleged  that  Simon  had  returned 
from  Beaumont  by  rail,  that  he  had  reached  Maillebois  at 
twenty  minutes  to  eleven  o'clock,  and  that  soon  afterwards 
he  had  committed  the  crime.  At  this  point,  however,  the 
new  version  of  the  Jesuits — necessitated  by  the  discovery  at 
Father  Philibin's — was  interpolated,  and  the  prisoner  was 
accused  of  having  procured  a  copy-slip,  of  having  caused  a 
false  stamp  to  be  made,  and  of  having  forged  on  the  slip  the 
initials  of  Brother  Gorgias.  Thus  that  childish  story,  which 
Gorgias  himself  had  deemed  so  idiotic  that  he  had  admitted 
the  authenticity  of  the  slip  and  the  paraph,  was  retained. 
While  nothing  was  abandoned  of  the  original  charges,  a 


TRUTH  405 

gross  invention  was  brought  forward  in  support  of  them; 
and  everything  was  again  based  on  the  famous  report  of  the 
experts,  Masters  Badoche  and  Trabut,  who  clung  to  their 
original  statements  in  spite  of  Brother  Gorgias's  formal  ad- 
missions. And  the  Procureur  de  la  Republique,  as  if  to 
leave  no  doubt  of  his  own  views,  intervened  in  order  to  ex- 
tract precise  statements  from  the  prisoner  with  respect  to 
his  denials  on  the  question  of  the  false  stamp. 

Simon's  demeanour  during  that  long  examination  was 
regarded  as  pitiful.  Many  of  his  partisans  had  dreamt  of 
him  as  a  justiciar,  armed  with  the  thunderbolts  of  heaven, 
and  rising  like  an  avenger  from  the  grave  into  which  he  had 
been  thrust  by  iniquitous  hands.  And  as  he  answered  po- 
litely in  a  voice  which  still  quivered  feverishly,  and  with 
none  of  the  outbursts  that  had  been  anticipated,  the  dis- 
appointment was  extreme.  His  enemies  once  more  began 
to  say  that  he  virtually  confessed  his  crime,  the  ignominy  of 
which  they  found  stamped  upon  his  unprepossessing  coun- 
tenance. Only  at  one  moment  did  he  become  excited, 
display  any  passionate  fervour.  This  was  when  the  judge 
spoke  to  him  of  the  false  stamp  of  which  he  heard  for  the 
first  time.  It  should  be  added  that  no  proof  was  supplied 
respecting  that  stamp;  the  prosecution  contented  itself  with 
relating  that  an  unknown  workman  had  confided  to  a  woman 
that  he  had  secretly  done  a  curious  job  for  the  schoolmaster 
of  Maillebois.  Confronted,  however,  by  the  sudden  violence 
of  Simon,  the  judge  did  not  insist  on  the  point,  particularly 
as  Delbos  had  risen,  prepared  to  raise  an  '  incident.'  And 
the  public  prosecutor  merely  added  that,  though  they  had 
failed  to  find  the  unknown  workman,  he  reserved  to  himself 
the  right  of  insisting  on  the  serious  probability  of  the  alleged 
occurrence. 

In  the  evening,  when  David  related  what  had  occurred 
at  that  first  sitting,  Marc,  who  divined  some  fresh  iniquity, 
felt  a  pang  at  the  heart.  Assuredly  the  greatest  crime  of 
all  was  now  in  preparation.  He  was  not  astonished  by  the 
calm  and  unobtrusive  bearing  of  Simon,  who  was  confident 
in  the  strength  of  his  innocence,  and  incapable  of  an  out- 
ward show  of  emotion.1  But  he  perfectly  understood  the 

1  This  was  a  marked  characteristic  of  the  unfortunate  Captain  Dreyfus, 
whose  demeanour  at  the  trial  at  Rennes  produced  such  an  unfavourable 
impression  on  sundry  foolish  English  '  special  correspondents,'  that  they 
veered  round  and  began  to  regard  the  prisoner  as  guilty,  quite  irrespec- 
tive of  the  evidence.  As  one  who  has  witnessed  many  criminal  trials, 


406  TRUTH 

bad  effect  which  had  been  produced;  while,  from  the  ag- 
gressive coldness  of  the  presiding  judge,  and  the  importance 
the  latter  gave  to  the  most  trivial  matters,  already  eluci- 
dated, he  derived  a  disastrous  impression,  a  quasi-certainty 
that  a  fresh  conviction  was  impending.  On  hearing  him, 
David,  from  whom  he  thought  it  wrong  to  hide  his  anxiety, 
could  only  with  difficulty  restrain  his  tears,  for  he  also  had 
quitted  the  Palace  of  Justice  in  despair,  full  of  a  dreadful 
presentiment. 

However,  the  following  days,  which  were  entirely  de- 
voted to  the  hearing  of  evidence,  brought  back  some  courage 
and  illusion.  The  former  witnesses  for  the  prosecution  were 
first  examined,  and  one  again  beheld  a  procession  of  railway 
employes  and  octroi  officials,  who  contradicted  one  another 
on  the  question  whether  Simon,  on  the  night  of  the  crime, 
had  returned  to  Maillebois  by  train  or  on  foot.  Marc,  who 
wished  to  follow  the  case,  had  asked  Delbos  to  have  him 
called  as  soon  as  possible,  and  this  being  done  he  gave  evi- 
dence respecting  the  discovery  of  poor  little  Ze'phirin's  body. 
He  was  then  able  to  seat  himself  once  more  beside  David, 
who  still  occupied  a  corner  of  the  small  space  allotted  to  the 
witnesses.  And  thus  Marc  was  present  at  the  first  '  inci- 
dent '  raised  by  the  counsel  for  the  defence,  who  had  re- 
tained all  his  bravery  and  self-possession  in  spite  of  the 
cruel  blow  which  had  lately  struck  him  in  the  heart. 

He  rose  to  demand  the  attendance  of  Father  Philibin  and 
Brothers  Fulgence  and  Gorgias,  who,  said  he,  had  been 
duly  cited.  But  the  presiding  judge  briefly  explained  that 
the  citations  had  reached  neither  Father  Philibin  nor  Brother 
Gorgias,  both  of  whom,  no  doubt,  were  abroad,  though 
their  exact  whereabouts  was  not  known.  As  for  Brother 
Fulgence,  he  was  seriously  ill,  and  had  sent  a  medical  cer- 
tificate to  that  effect.  Delbos  insisted,  however,  with  re- 
spect to  Brother  Fulgence,  and  ended  by  obtaining  a 
promise  that  he  should  be  visited  by  a  sworn  medical  man. 
Then,  also,  the  advocate  was  unwilling  to  content  himself 
with  a  letter  in  which  Father  Crabot,  while  urging  his  occu- 
pations, his  confessional  duties,  as  an  excuse  for  absence, 
declared  that  he  knew  nothing  whatever  of  the  affair;  and, 
in  spite  of  the  acrimonious  intervention  of  the  Procureur 

who  has  been  a  juror  and  the  foreman  of  a  jury,  I  feel  that  everything 
that  has  been  written  to  my  knowledge  in  English  literature  respecting 
the  '  proper '  demeanour  of  an  innocent  man  is  nonsense  and  nothing 
else. —  Trans, 


TRUTH  407 

de  la  Re"publique,  Delbos  again  carried  his  point — that  the 
Court  should  insist  on  the  attendance  of  the  Rector  of  Val- 
marie.  However,  this  first  collision  fomented  anger,  and 
from  that  moment  conflicts  continually  arose  between  the 
judge  and  the  advocate. 

The  day's  sitting  ended  amidst  an  outburst  of  emotion, 
occasioned  by  the  unexpected  character  of  the  evidence 
given  by  assistant-teacher  Mignot.  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire, 
as  bitter  and  as  positive  as  ever,  had  just  reaffirmed  that,  at 
about  twenty  minutes  to  eleven  o'clock,  she  had  heard  the 
footsteps  and  the  voice  of  Simon  coming  in  and  speaking 
with  Z^phirin — which  evidence  had  weighed  so  heavily  on 
the  prisoner  at  the  previous  trial — when  Mignot,  following 
her  at  the  bar,  retracted  the  whole  of  his  former  statements 
in  a  tone  of  wondrous  frankness  and  emotion.  He  had 
heard  nothing;  he  was  now  convinced  of  Simon's  inno- 
cence, and  adduced  the  weightiest  reasons.  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  was  then  recalled,  and  there  came  a  dramatic  con- 
frontation, in  which  the  schoolmistress  ended  by  losing 
ground,  becoming  embarrassed  in  her  estimate  of  the  hour, 
and  finding  nothing  to  answer  when  Mignot  pointed  out 
that  it  was  impossible  to  hear  from  her  room  anything  that 
took  place  in  little  Ze"phirin's.  Marc  was  recalled  to  con- 
firm Mignot's  demonstration,  and  at  the  bar  he  found  him- 
self for  a  moment  beside  Inspector  Mauraisin,  who,  being 
asked  for  his  opinion  respecting  the  prisoner  and  the  wit- 
nesses, endeavoured  to  get  out  of  his  difficulty  by  indulging 
in  extravagant  praise  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire's  merits, 
while  saying  nothing  particular  against  Mignot  or  Marc,  or 
even  Simon,  at  a  loss  as  he  was  to  tell  what  turn  the  case 
might  take. 

The  next  two  sittings  of  the  Court  proved  even  better  for 
the  defence.  The  question  of  hearing  a  part  of  the  evidence 
in  camera,  which  had  impassioned  people  at  the  first  trial, 
was  not  even  put,  for  the  presiding  judge  did  not  dare  to 
raise  it.  It  was  in  public  that  he  interrogated  Simon's 
former  pupils,  boys  at  the  time  of  the  crime  but  now 
grown  men,  for  the  most  part  married.  Fernand  Bongard, 
Auguste  and  Charles  Doloir,  Achille  and  Philippe  Savin 
came  in  succession  to  relate  the  little  they  remembered,  and 
their  statements  were  favourable  to  the  prisoner  rather  than 
the  reverse.  Thus  ended  the  abominable  legend  built  up 
by  the  help  of  the  former  proceedings  in  camera,  the  legend 
of  horrible  charges  with  which,  it  had  been  said,  one  could 


408  TRUTH 

not  possibly  soil  the  ears  of  an  audience  composed  partially 
of  women. 

However,  the  sensational  evidence  of  the  sitting  was  that 
given  by  S^bastien  and  Victor  Milhomme.  In  accents  of 
emotion  Sebastien,  now  two  and  twenty  years  of  age,  ex- 
plained the  falsehood  of  his  childhood,  the  alarm  of  his 
mother,  the  suppression  of  the  truth,  which  he  and  she  had 
expiated  after  prolonged  torture.  And  he  stated  the  facts 
such  as  they  really  were,  how  he  had  seen  a  copy-slip  in  the 
hands  of  his  cousin  Victor,  how  that  slip  had  disappeared, 
how  it  had  been  found  again,  and  given  up  when  his  mother, 
grief-stricken  beside  his  bed  of  sickness,  had  deemed  herself 
punished  for  her  bad  action.  As  for  Victor,  when  his  turn 
came  to  testify,  in  order  to  please  his  mother,  who  did  not 
wish  to  compromise  the  stationery  business  any  further,  he 
feigned  total  forgetfulness,  the  obtuseness  of  a  big  fellow 
who  had  no  memory.  No  doubt  he  must  have  brought  the 
copy-slip  from  the  Brothers'  school,  as  it  had  been  found, 
but  he  knew  nothing,  he  could  say  nothing  further. 

Finally,  another  of  the  Brothers'  former  pupils,  Polydor 
Souquet,  now  a  servant  in  a  Beaumont  convent,  appeared 
at  the  bar,  and  was  questioned  very  pressingly  by  Delbos 
respecting  the  manner  in  which  Brother  Gorgias  had  escorted 
him  home  on  the  night  of  the  crime,  the  incidents  which 
had  occurred  on  the  road,  the  words  that  had  been  ex- 
changed, and  the  hour.  But  all  that  Delbos  could  extract 
from  Polydor  were  some  evasive  answers,  and  malicious 
glances  promptly  tempered  by  an  affectation  of  stupidity. 
How  could  one  remember  after  so  many  years?  the  witness 
asked.  The  excuse  was  too  convenient,  and  the  Procureur 
de  la  Republique  began  to  show  signs  of  anxious  impatience, 
while  the  onlookers,  though  they  failed  to  understand  why 
the  advocate  insisted  so  much  with  an  apparently  insignifi- 
cant witness,  felt  as  it  were  a  quiver  of  the  truth  passing 
through  the  atmosphere  —  the  truth  suspected,  but  once 
more  taking  flight. 

People  were  stirred  again  at  the  next  sitting  of  the  Court, 
though  it  began  with  the  interminable  demonstrations  of  the 
experts,  Masters  Badoche  and  Trabut,  who,  disregarding 
even  the  admissions  of  Brother  Gorgias  himself,  obstinately 
refused  to  recognise  his  initials,  an  F  and  a  G,  in  the  in- 
criminated paraph,  in  which  they  alone  recognised  those  of 
Simon,  an  E  and  an  S  interlaced,  but,  it  was  true,  illegible. 
For  more  than  three  hours  these  men  piled  argument  upon 


TRUTH  409 

argument,  demonstration  on  demonstration,  calmly  perse- 
vering in  their  lunacy.  And  the  marvel  was  that  the  pre- 
siding judge  allowed  them  to  go  on,  and  listened  to  them 
with  manifest  complacency,  while  the  Procureur  made  a 
show  of  taking  notes,  and  asked  the  experts  for  precise  in- 
formation on  certain  points,  as  if  the  prosecution  still 
adopted  their  system.  In  presence  of  this  mise-en-sclne, 
even  reasonable  people  in  the  hall  began  to  hesitate.  And, 
after  all,  why  not?  For  in  matters  of  handwriting  one  could 
never  tell. 

But  at  the  close  of  the  sitting  an  incident,  which  did  not 
last  ten  minutes,  upset  everybody.  Clad  in  black  from 
head  to  foot,  ex-Investigating  Magistrate  Daix,  who  had 
been  cited  by  the  defence,  appeared  at  the  bar.  He  was 
scarcely  fifty-six  years  old,  but  he  looked  seventy;  thin  and 
bent,  his  hair  quite  white,  his  face  so  emaciated  that  little 
of  it,  save  the  slender,  blade-like  nose,  seemed  to  remain. 
He  had  lately  lost  his  wife,  and  people  talked  of  the  tortur- 
ing life  which  that  ugly,  coquettish,  ambitious  woman  had 
led  him  in  her  despair  that  nothing  ever  raised  them  from 
their  narrow  circumstances,  not  even  the  condemnation  of 
that  Jew  Simon,  on  which  she  had  insisted  and  from  which 
she  had  hoped  to  derive  so  much.  And  now  that  his  wife 
was  no  longer  beside  him,  Daix,  timid  and  anxious,  pains- 
taking in  his  profession,  an  honest  man  at  heart,  had  come 
there  to  relieve  his  conscience,  distracted  as  he  was  by  the 
deeds  which  had  been  wrung  from  his  weakness,  his  craving 
to  have  peace  at  home.  He  did  not  positively  speak  of  all 
those  things,  he  did  not  even  admit  that  after  his  investiga- 
tions he  had  felt  that  the  only  possible  decision  was  an  order 
to  stay  further  proceedings.  But  he  allowed  Delbos  to 
question  him,  and  when  his  present  opinion  was  asked,  he 
replied  plainly  that  the  inquiry  of  the  Court  of  Cassation 
had  destroyed  his  work,  the  original  indictment,  and  that 
for  his  own  part  he  now  regarded  Simon  as  innocent.  Then 
he  withdrew  amidst  the  silent  stupefaction  of  the  onlookers. 
The  apparition  of  that  man  in  mourning  garb,  the  admissions 
made  by  him  in  slow  and  sorrowful  accents,  had  stirred 
every  heart. 

That  evening,  in  Marc's  large  room,  where  Simon's 
friends  met  after  every  sitting  of  the  Court  in  order  to  dis- 
cuss matters,  Delbos  and  David  expressed  keen  satisfaction, 
a  conviction  that  success  was  almost  certain  now,  so  great, 
apparently,  was  the  impression  which  Daix's  evidence  had 


410  TRUTH 

produced  on  the  jury.  Nevertheless,  Marc  remained 
anxious.  He  told  the  others  of  certain  rumours  which  were 
circulating  concerning  the  stealthy  doings  of  ex-President 
Gragnon,  who  had  been  carrying  on  a  subterranean  cam- 
paign ever  since  his  arrival  at  Rozan.  Marc  was  aware 
that,  even  as  the  friends  of  the  defence  met  in  his  own 
room,  in  like  way  mysterious  meetings  took  place  every 
night  at  Gragnon's  in  an  adjoining  street.  And  there  the 
partisans  of  the  prosecution  certainly  decided  on  the  line 
they  would  pursue  on  the  morrow,  invented  the  answers 
which  it  would  be  best  to  give,  planned  the  incidents  which 
they  felt  ought  to  be  raised,  in  particular  preparing  the  evi- 
dence in  accordance  with  the  result  of  the  day's  sitting. 
For  instance,  whenever  that  sitting  was  regarded  as  un- 
favourable to  the  prosecution,  one  might  be  sure  that  there 
would  be  some  surprise  detrimental  to  the  prisoner,  at  the 
outset  of  the  sitting  on  the  morrow.  Moreover,  Father 
Crabot  had  been  again  seen  slipping  into  Gragnon's  house. 
Several  people  also  declared  that  they  had  seen  young 
Polydor  Souquet  leaving  it.  And  others  alleged  that  at  a 
very  late  hour  they  had  met  in  the  street  a  lady  and  a 
gentleman  who  looked  extremely  like  Mademoiselle  Rou- 
zaire  and  Inspector  Mauraisin.  But  the  worst  was  some 
mysterious  work,  which  centred  round  those  jurors  who 
were  notoriously  on  the  side  of  the  Church,  and  of  which 
Marc  obtained  an  inkling,  though  his  informant  could  not 
give  him  full  particulars.  Gragnon  did  not  commit  such 
a  blunder  as  to  ask  those  men  to  call  at  his  house,  nor 
did  he,  indeed,  address  himself  to  them  personally;  but  he 
made  others  call  on  them,  and  show  them,  so  it  was  said, 
an  irrefutable  proof  of  Simon's  guilt,  a  terrible  document, 
which  the  most  serious  reasons  prevented  him  from  making 
public,  though  he  was  resolved  to  employ  it,  all  the  same, 
should  the  defence  drive  him  to  extremities.  And  this  in- 
formation made  Marc  feel  anxious,  for  he  scented  some 
fresh  abomination  in  it.  Thus,  on  the  evening  of  the  day 
.when  Daix  had  dealt  the  prosecution  such  a  severe  blow, 
he  predicted  to  his  friends  some  deed  of  retaliation  on  the 
enemy's  part,  some  sample  of  the  thunder  which  Gragnon, 
according  to  his  own  account,  had  in  his  pocket. 

The  following  sitting  of  the  Court  was,  indeed,  one  of  the 
gravest  and  most  exciting.  Jacquin,  the  foreman  of  the 
first  jury,  in  his  turn  came  forward  to  relieve  his  conscience. 
In  simple  language  he  related  how  President  Gragnon,  on 


TRUTH  411 

being  summoned  by  the  jurors,  who  had  wished  to  consult 
him  respecting  the  penalty  attaching  to  their  verdict,  had 
entered  their  room  carrying  a  letter,  and  looking  very  much 
disturbed.  And  he  had  shown  them  that  letter,  which  bore 
Simon's  signature,  followed  by  a  postscriptum  and  a  paraph, 
which  last  was  identical  with  the  one  on  the  copy-slip  ten- 
dered as  evidence.  Several  jurymen,  who  had  hesitated 
previously,  then  declared  themselves  convinced  of  the 
prisoner's  guilt.  He,  Jacquin,  had  retained  no  further 
doubts;  and  for  the  peace  of  his  conscience  he  had  been 
well  pleased  at  thus  acquiring  certainty.  At  that  time  he 
had  not  known  that  such  a  communication  was  illegal.  It 
was  only  later  that  he  had  discovered  such  to  be  the  case, 
and  had  experienced  great  distress  of  mind  until,  at  last, 
the  postscriptum  and  the  paraph  being  recognised  as  for- 
geries, he  had  resolved,  like  a  good  Christian,  to  make 
amends  for  his  involuntary  error.  A  shudder  of  awe  sped 
through  those  who  heard  him,  when  in  his  quiet  way  he 
added  a  last  detail:  He  had  heard  the  very  voice  of  Jesus 
telling  him  to  speak  out,  one  evening  when,  tortured  by  re- 
morse, he  was  kneeling  in  a  dim  chapel  of  St.  Maxence. 

Then  Gragnon  was  summoned  to  the  bar,  and  at  first  tried 
the  effect  of  the  rough  frankness  which  he  had  so  often  as- 
sumed in  his  browbeating  judicial  days.  He  was  still  fat, 
though  his  fears  had  made  him  pale;  and,  striving  to  hide 
his  prolonged  anguish  beneath  the  impudence  of  a  ban 
vivant,  he  pretended  that  he  no  longer  remembered  petty 
details.  And  well — yes,  he  believed  he  had  gone  into  the 
jurors'  room  carrying  the  letter  which  he  had  just  received. 
He  had  been  upset  by  it,  and  had  shown  it  to  the  others  in 
a  moment  of  emotion,  scarcely  realising  the  nature  of  his 
action,  and  being  only  desirous  of  establishing  the  truth. 
He  had  never  regretted  that  communication,  so  fully  was 
he  convinced  of  the  authenticity  of  the  postscript  and  the 
paraph.  In  his  opinion  the  assertion  that  they  were  forgeries 
remained  to  be  proved.  Then,  as  he  formally  charged 
Jacquin  with  having  read  the  letter  aloud  to  the  other 
jurors,  and  of  having  commented  on  it,  the  ex-foreman  was 
recalled,  and  a  sharp  dispute  ensued.  At  last  Gragnon 
convicted  the  architect  of  some  error  or  forgetfulness  re- 
specting the  perusal  of  the  letter;  and  thereupon  he  tri- 
umphed while  the  spectators  began  to  hiss  the  honest 
witness,  who  from  that  moment  was  suspected  of  having 
sold  himself  to  the  Jews. 


412  TRUTH 

In  vain  did  Delbos  repeatedly  intervene,  striving  to  ex- 
asperate Gragnon  and  unmask  him,  by  forcing  him  to  an 
explosion,  the  production  of  the  famous  document  which  it 
was  said  would  clench  everything.  The  ex-judge,  who  re- 
tained all  his  self-possession,  and  who  was  satisfied  with 
having  escaped  immediate  danger  by  casting  a  doubt  on  his 
adversary's  veracity,  relapsed  into  evasive  answers.  It  was 
noticed,  however,  that  one  of  the  jurors  caused  a  question 
to  be  put  to  him — a  question  which  nobody  understood,  but 
which  was  whether  he  did  not  possess  some  knowledge  of 
another  document  bearing  on  the  authenticity  of  the  copy- 
slip.  Gragnon  answered  enigmatically,  that  he  abided  by 
his  previous  declarations,  and  was  unwilling  to  enter  into 
other  matters,  however  certain  they  might  be.  And  thus 
that  sitting  of  the  Court,  which,  at  the  outset,  had  seemed 
likely  to  ruin  the  prosecution,  ended  to  its  advantage.  In 
Marc's  room  in  the  evening,  Simon's  friends  again  began  to 
despair. 

The  examination  of  the  witnesses  dragged  on  during  a 
few  more  sittings.  The  doctor  appointed  to  visit  Brother 
Fulgence  had  returned  with  a  report  that  the  Brother's  con- 
dition was  very  serious,  and  that  it  was  impossible  to  bring 
him  to  Rozan.  In  like  manner  Father  Crabot  avoided  the 
embarrassment  of  attendance  by  feigning  a  sudden  accident 
— a  severe  sprain.  In  vain  did  Delbos  make  an  application 
for  his  evidence  to  be  taken  by  commission.  President 
Guybaraud,  who  at  the  outset  had  shown  himself  so  phleg- 
matic, now  sabred  everybody  and  everything  in  his  eager- 
ness to  bring  the  case  to  an  end.  He  treated  Simon 
harshly,  as  if,  indeed,  he  were  already  a  condemned  man ; 
being  emboldened  to  this  course  by  the  singular  calmness 
of  the  prisoner,  who  still  listened  to  the  witnesses  with 
curiosity  and  stupefaction,  as  if  the  extraordinary  adventures 
of  somebody  else  were  being  recounted  to  him.  Only  on 
two  or  three  occasions  did  some  extremely  mendacious 
testimony  prompt  him  to  a  little  rebellion;  for  the  most 
part  he  contented  himself  with  smiling  and  shrugging  his 
shoulders. 

At  last  Pacart,  the  Procureur  de  la  Re"publique,  addressed 
the  Court.  Tall  and  thin,  he  was  addicted  to  long,  nervous 
gestures,  and  affected  an  unadorned,  mathematically  precise 
kind  of  eloquence.  In  presence  of  the  plainly-worded  judg- 
ment of  the  Court  of  Cassation,  his  task  was  not  easy.  But 
his  tactics  were  very  simple,  he  took  no  account  of  that 


TRUTH  413 

judgment,  he  did  not  once  allude  to  the  long  inquiry  which 
had  ended  in  a  decision  to  send  the  affair  for  trial  by  an- 
other Assize  Court.  He  quietly  reverted  to  the  old  indict- 
ment, based  himself  on  the  report  of  the  experts,  and 
accepted  the  revised  account  of  the  copy-slip,  holding  that 
the  school-stamp  as  well  as  the  initialling  had  been  forged. 
He  even  spoke  of  that  stamp  in  a  positive  way,  as  if  he  held 
a  proof  that  it  had  been  forged  but  could  not  produce  it. 
As  for  Brother  Gorgias,  he  regarded  him  simply  as  an  un- 
fortunate man,  perhaps  mentally  unhinged,  assuredly  in 
need,  and  of  a  passionate  nature — one  who,  after  proving 
an  undisciplined  and  compromising  son  of  the  Church,  had 
quitted  it  and  sold  himself  to  the  Jews.  And  Pacart  con- 
cluded by  asking  the  jurors  to  put  an  end  to  this  affair, 
which  was  so  disastrous  for  the  peace  of  the  country,  by 
saying  once  more  on  which  side  the  culprit  really  was, 
whether  among  the  Anarchists  and  the  Cosmopolites — who 
sought  to  destroy  all  belief  in  God  and  country — or  among 
the  men  upholding  faith,  respect,  and  tradition,  to  whom, 
for  ages  past,  France  had  owed  her  grandeur. 

Then  Delbos  spoke  during  two  sittings.  Eager  and  ner- 
vous, endowed  with  passionate  eloquence,  he  also  dealt  with 
the  affair  from  the  very  beginning.  But  he  did  so  in  order 
to  destroy  the  allegations  in  the  old  indictment,  with  the 
help  of  the  arguments  supplied  by  the  Court  of  Cassation's 
inquiry.  Not  one  of  those  allegations  was  worth  anything. 
It  was  proved  that  Simon  had  returned  home  on  foot  on 
the  night  of  the  crime;  that  he  had  reached  Maillebois  at 
twenty  minutes  to  twelve  o'clock,  an  hour  after  the  crime 
had  been  committed.  Again,  there  was  proof  that  the 
copy-slip  had  been  stamped  at  the  Brothers'  school  and 
initialled  by  Brother  Gorgias,  whose  admissions  on  the 
subject  were  not  even  necessary,  for  counter  experts,  in  a 
memorable  report  addressed  to  the  Court  of  Cassation,  had 
destroyed  the  extraordinary  farrago  of  Masters  Badoche  and 
Trabut.  Then  Delbos  turned  to  the  new  story  of  the  forged 
stamp.  No  proof  of  this  had  been  supplied.  Nevertheless, 
he  insisted  on  the  subject;  for  he  divined  that  some  su- 
preme abomination  lurked  beneath  all  that  stealthy  ma- 
noeuvring compounded  of  mere  allegation  and  reticence.  A 
sick  workman,  it  was  said,  had  told  a  woman  a  vague  story 
about  a  stamp  which  he  had  made  for  the  Maillebois  school- 
master. Where  was  that  woman?  Who  was  she?  What  was 
her  calling?  As  nobody  would  or  could  reply,  he  (Delbos) 


414  TRUTH 

had  a  right  to  conclude  that  this  story  was  one  of  those 
absurd  lies  such  as  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  was  in  the  habit  of 
retailing.  However,  if  he  was  able  to  picture  the  whole 
crime  as  it  must  have  taken  place — Brother  Gorgias  return- 
ing after  he  had  escorted  Polydor  home,  pausing  before 
Ze"phirm's  open  window,  finally  entering  the  room,  and  at 
last  succumbing  to  his  ungovernable  passions — he  admitted 
that  there  was  a  gap  in  his  narrative.  Where  had  Gorgias 
found  the  copy-slip?  For  the  rascal  was  right  when  he 
jeeringly  inquired  if  schoolmasters  usually  walked  about  in 
the  evening  with  copy-slips  in  their  pockets.  Undoubtedly 
the  number  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  had  been  in  the  pocket 
of  his  own  cassock,  whence  he  had  taken  it  in  order  to 
gag  his  victim.  And  the  slip  must  have  been  there  also. 
But  how  had  that  happened?  Delbos  suspected  the  truth, 
and  if  he  had  questioned  Polydor  Souquet  so  pressingly  it 
was  in  order  to  extract  it  from  him.  He  had  failed  in  that 
endeavour,  the  witness  having  met  him  with  an  assumption 
of  hypocritical  stupidity.  But,  after  all,  what  did  that  ob- 
scure point  matter?  Was  not  Gorgias's  guilt  absolutely 
manifest?  His  alleged  alibi  was  based  solely  on  a  series  of 
false  statements.  Everything  proved  his  guilt — his  flight, 
his  semi-confessions,  the  criminal  efforts  made  to  save  him, 
and  the  dispersal  of  his  accomplices — Father  Philibin  hiding 
himself  in  some  Italian  convent;  Brother  Fulgence  seeking 
refuge  at  a  distance,  and  shielding  himself  with  a  diplomatic 
illness;  and  Father  Crabot  withdrawing  to  his  cell,  where 
Providence  had  visited  him  with  a  very  salutary  sprain. 
Was  it  not  also  in  order  to  save  Gorgias  that  President 
Gragnon  had  illegally  communicated  a  forgery  to  the  first 
jurors,  as  had  been  proved  by  the  evidence  of  architect 
Jacquin?  Amidst  the  accumulation  of  crimes,  that  one 
alone  ought  to  have  sufficed  to  open  the  eyes  of  the  most 
prejudiced.  And  Delbos  ended  by  depicting  the  frightful 
sufferings  experienced  by  Simon,  the  fifteen  years  of  trans- 
portation which  he  had  endured  amidst  the  most  cruel 
physical  and  moral  tortures,  while  ever  stubbornly  raising  his 
cry  of  innocence.  The  advocate  added  that,  like  the  Pro- 
cureur  de  la  Re"publique,  he  also  desired  to  have  the  affair 
ended,  but  ended  by  an  act  of  justice  which  would  redound 
to  the  honour  of  France ;  for  if  the  innocent  man  should  be 
struck  down  again,  the  shame  of  France  would  be  inde- 
scribable, and  a  future  full  of  incalculable  evils  would  lie 
before  her. 


TRUTH  415 

There  was  no  reply  from  the  prosecution,  the  case  was 
closed,  and  the  jury  at  once  withdrew  to  its  retiring-room.1 
It  was  about  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  and  for  more 
than  an  hour  the  spectators  remained  waiting,  silent  and 
anxious,  in  no  wise  resembling  the  audience  at  Beaumont, 
which  had  been  so  tumultuous  and  violent.  The  hall  was 
very  hot,  and  the  atmosphere  seemed  as  heavy  as  lead. 
There  was  little  conversation,  though  occasionally  the 
Simonists  and  the  anti-Simonists  glanced  askance  at  one 
another.  One  might  have  fancied  oneself  in  some  funeral 
chamber  where  the  life  or  death  of  a  nation,  the  whole 
dolorous  question  of  its  future,  was  being  decided.  At  last 
the  jury  reappeared,  the  judges  came  in,  and  amidst  lugu- 
brious silence  the  foreman  arose.  He  was  a  little  grey,  lean 
man,  a  goldsmith,  enjoying  the  custom  of  the  local  clergy. 
His  shrill  voice  was  distinctly  heard.  On  the  question  of 
guilt  the  verdict  was  '  Yes,'  by  a  majority;  while  '  extenuat- 
ing circumstances  '  were  unanimously  granted.  At  Beau- 
mont the  jury  had  been  unanimous  with  respect  to  guilt, 
and  only  a  small  majority  had  favoured  the  admission  of 
extenuating  circumstances.  And  now,  after  expediting 
the  formalities,  President  Guybaraud  hastily  pronounced  a 
sentence  of  ten  years'  solitary  confinement.  That  done, 
he  withdrew,  and  Pacart,  the  Procureur  de  la  R^publique, 
followed  him,  after  bowing  to  the  jury  as  if  to  thank  them. 

Marc,  meantime,  had  glanced  at  Simon,  on  whose  face  he 
only  detected  a  kind  of  faint  smile,  a  painful  contraction  of 
the  lips.  Delbos,  beside  himself,  was  clenching  his  fists. 
David,  whose  emotion  was  too  intense,  had  not  returned 
into  Court,  but  was  awaiting  the  decision  outside.  The 
thunderbolt  had  fallen,  and  Marc  felt  a  deadly  chill  in 
every  vein.  It  was  a  frigid  horror:  the  supreme  iniquity, 
in  which  just  minds  had  refused  to  believe,  the  crime  of 
crimes,  which  had  seemed  impossible  a  few  hours  earlier, 
which  reason  had  rejected,  had  suddenly  become  a  mon- 
strous reality.  And  there  were  no  ferocious  cries  of  joy, 
there  was  no  onslaught  like  that  of  cannibals  rushing  to  a 
feast  of  blood,  as  at  Beaumont.  Though  the  hall  was  full 
of  rabid  anti-Simonists,  the  frightful  silence  continued,  such 
was  the  horror  which  froze  one  and  all  to  their  very  bones. 

1  At  French  criminal  trials  the  judges  no  longer  sum  up  the  evidence 
before  the  verdict  is  given.  That  privilege  was  taken  from  them  by  a 
special  law  several  years  ago,  in  consequence  of  their  scandalous  abuse 
of  it.—  Trans. 


416  TRUTH 

Only  a  long  shudder,  a  stifled  groan,  sped  through  the 
throng.  And  they  went  out  without  a  word,  without  a 
push,  in  a  dark  stream  like  some  funeral  assembly  choking 
with  emotion,  stricken  with  fear.  And  outside  Marc  found 
David  sobbing. 

So  the  Church  was  victorious — the  Brothers'  school  would 
revive  to  life,  while  the  secular  school  would  again  become 
the  ante-room  of  hell,  the  satanic  den  where  children  were 
corrupted  both  in  mind  and  body.  The  desperate  and 
gigantic  effort  made  by  the  Congregations  and  by  almost  all 
the  clergy  had  again  retarded  their  defeat,  which  was  cer- 
tain in  the  future.  For  years,  however,  one  would  again 
see  the  young  generations  stupefied  by  error,  rotted  by  lies. 
The  forward  march  of  mankind  would  be  hampered  afresh 
until  the  day  when  free  thought — invincible  and  still  pur- 
suing its  course  in  spite  of  everything — should  at  last  deliver 
the  people  by  science,  which  alone  could  render  it  capable 
of  truth  and  equity. 

On  the  following  evening,  when  Marc  returned  to  Maille- 
bois,  exhausted  by  fatigue  and  quite  heart-broken,  he  found 
a  letter  of  three  lines  awaiting  him:  'I  have  read  the  whole 
of  the  inquiry,  I  have  followed  the  trial.  The  most  mon- 
strous of  crimes  has  been  committed.  Simon  is  innocent. 
— Genevibve. ' 


IV 

ON  the  morrow,  a  Thursday,  Marc,  who  had  scarcely 
slept  that  night,  had  just  risen  when  he  received  an 
early  visit  from  his  daughter  Louise.  She,  having 
heard  of  his  return,  had  escaped  for  a  moment  from  her 
grandmother's  house.  And,  throwing  her  arms  wildly  about 
her  father's  neck,  she  exclaimed:  'Oh!  father,  father,  what 
a  deal  of  sorrow  you  must  have  had,  and  how  pleased  I  am 
to  be  able  to  kiss  you ! ' 

A  big  girl  nowadays,  Louise  was  fully  acquainted  with  the 
Simon  affair,  and  snared  all  the  faith,  all  the  passion  for 
justice  displayed  by  that  dearly-loved  father,  the  master 
whose  lofty  mind  was  her  guide.  Thus  her  cry  was  instinct 
with  the  revolt  and  despair  into  which  she  had  been  cast  by 
the  monstrous  proceedings  at  Rozan. 

But,  on  thus  seeing  her  before  him  and  feeling  her  em- 
brace, Marc  thought  of  Genevieve's  letter,  to  which  his 
sleeplessness  that  night  had  been  largely  due.  'And  your 
mother,'  he  asked,  'do  you  know  that  she  has  written  to  me, 
and  that  she  is  now  on  our  side  ? ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  father,  I  know  it.  She  spoke  of  it  to  me. 
.  .  .  Ah !  if  I  were  to  tell  you  of  all  the  quarrels  there 
were  when  grandmother  saw  mamma  beginning  to  read 
everything,  procuring  documents  which  had  never  been  in 
the  house  before,  and  going  out  every  morning  to  buy  the 
full  report  of  the  new  trial.  Grandmother  wanted  to  burn 
everything,  so  mamma  shut  herself  up  in  her  own  room  and 
spent  all  her  time  there.  .  .  .  And  I  also  read  every- 
thing; mamma  allowed  me  to  do  so.  Oh!  papa,  what  a 
dreadful  affair — that  poor  man,  that  poor  innocent,  over- 
whelmed by  so  many  cruel  people!  If  I  could,  I  should 
love  you  all  the  more  for  having  loved  and  defended  him!  ' 

She  again  threw  her  arms  about  her  father's  neck  and 
kissed  him  with  heartfelt  fervour.  And  he,  in  spite  of  his 
sufferings,  began  to' smile  as  if  some  delicious  balm  had 
somewhat  calmed  the  smarting  of  his  wounds.  And  while 

417 


418  TRUTH 

he  smiled  he  pictured  his  wife  and  his  daughter  reading 
together,  learning  the  truth,  and  at  last  returning  to  him. 
'  Her  letter,  her  dear  letter, '  he  said  in  an  undertone,  '  what 
consolation  and  hope  it  gave  me!  Will  not  joy  return  after 
so  many  misfortunes  ?  ' 

Then  he  anxiously  questioned  Louise :  '  So  your  mother 
spoke  to  you  of  me  ?  Does  she  understand,  does  she  regret 
our  torments  ?  I  always  felt  that  she  would  come  back  to 
me  when  she  knew  the  truth.' 

But  the  girl  prettily  raised  a  finger  to  her  lips.  She,  in 
her  turn,  was  smiling.  '  Oh!  papa,'  she  said,  '  don't  try  to 
make  me  say  what  I  can't  say  yet.  I  should  be  telling  a 
falsehood  if  I  spoke  positively.  Our  affairs  are  in  a  good 
way,  that  is  all.  .  .  .  Remain  patient  a  little  longer, 
remain  confident  in  your  daughter,  who  tries  to  be  as 
reasonable  and  affectionate  as  you  are.' 

Then  she  gave  him  some  bad  news  about  Madame  Ber- 
thereau.  For  several  years  the  latter  had  been  suffering 
from  a  heart  complaint,  which  recent  events  seemed  to  have 
suddenly  aggravated.  Madame  Duparque's  fits  of  anger, 
the  outbursts  with  which  she  made  the  dark,  dismal  little 
house  shake  at  all  hours  of  the  day,  proved  very  prejudicial 
to  the  sick  woman,  for  they  brought  on  shuddering  and 
stifling  fits,  which  she  could  hardly  overcome.  At  present, 
in  order  to  escape  those  nervous  frights,  she  no  longer  went 
down  into  the  little  sitting-room,  but  remained  on  a  couch 
in  her  bed-chamber,  gazing  from  morn  till  night  at  the  de- 
serted Place  des  Capucins,  with  those  poor,  melancholy  eyes 
of  hers,  in  which  one  read  such  keen  regret  for  the  joys  she 
had  lost  so  long  ago. 

'  Oh!  we  don't  amuse  ourselves  at  all  now,'  Louise  con- 
tinued. '  Mamma  remains  in  her  room,  grandmamma  Ber- 
thereau  in  hers,  and  grandmamma  Duparque  goes  up  and 
down,  bangs  the  doors,  and  quarrels  with  Pe'lagie  when  she 
finds  nobody  to  scold.  .  .  .  But  I  don't  complain,  for 
I  shut  myself  up  as  well,  and  work.  Mamma  has  agreed  to 
it,  you  know;  I  shall  go  up  for  admission  to  the  training 
school  in  six  months'  time,  and  I  hope  to  get  in. ' 

Just  at  that  moment,  Sebastien  Milhomme,  who  was  free 
that  day,  arrived  from  Beaumont,  all  anxiety  to  embrace 
his  former  master,  of  whose  return  he  had  heard.  And 
almost  immediately  afterwards  came  Joseph  and  Sarah, 
who,  on  behalf  of  their  mother  and  the  Lehmanns,  whom 
the  reconviction  of  Simon  had  overwhelmed,  wished  to 


TRUTH  419 

thank  Marc  for  his  heroic  if  vain  efforts.  The  brother  and 
sister  related  what  a  thunderbolt  had  fallen  on  the  wretched 
shop  in  the  Rue  du  Trou  on  the  previous  evening,  when 
David  had  telegraphed  the  frightful  tidings.  Madame 
Simon  had  preferred  to  await  them  there  with  her  parents 
and  her  children,  such  great  hostility  had  she  encountered 
in  that  clerical  town  of  Rozan,  where,  moreover,  her  modest 
means  did  not  allow  her  to  live.  And  the  mournful  house 
was  again  in  tears,  acquainted  only  with  the  iniquitous  ver- 
dict and  ignorant  of  what  might  now  happen,  all  decision  as 
to  the  future  being  postponed  until  the  return  of  David,  who, 
for  the  time,  had  remained  near  his  brother. 

The  eyes  of  Joseph  and  Sarah  were  still  red  and  swollen, 
for  they  had  spent  a  tearful,  feverish  night  without  a  mo- 
ment's quiet  rest;  and  as,  while  speaking  of  their  father, 
they  again  began  to  sob,  Sebastien,  carried  away  by  his 
feelings,  kissed  his  good  friend  Sarah,  while  Louise,  taking 
hold  of  Joseph's  hands,  and  likewise  shedding  tears,  naively 
sought  to  console  him  somewhat  by  speaking  of  her  great 
affection  for  him.  She  was  seventeen  and  he  twenty. 
Sebastien  was  a  year  or  two  older,  and  Sarah  was  eighteen. 
Marc  felt  moved  as  he  saw  those  young  folk  there  before 
him,  quivering  with  youth,  intelligence,  and  kindliness. 
And  a  thought,  which  had  occurred  to  him  and  brought  him 
a  delightful  hope  already  in  the  days  when  he  had  seen 
them  playing  as  children,  now  returned.  Might  they  not, 
indeed,  be  predestined  consorts,  such  as  would  produce  the 
happy  harvest  of  the  future,  who  would  bring  broader  hearts 
and  more  liberal  minds  to  the  great  work  of  to-morrow  ? 

But  although  his  daughter's  visit  gave  Marc  no  little  com- 
fort for  the  time,  he  became  very  downcast  on  the  ensuing 
days,  so  distressful  was  the  spectacle  which  his  poor  poisoned 
and  dishonoured  country  now  presented.  The  crime  of 
crimes  had  been  committed,  and  France  did  not  rise  against 
it!  During  the  long  struggle  for  revision  Marc  had  already 
failed  to  recognise  in  her  the  generous,  magnanimous,  lib- 
erating, and  justice-dealing  country  to  which  he  had  ded- 
icated such  lofty  and  passionate  love.  But  never  had  he 
thought  it  possible  that  she  would  sink  to  that  base  level, 
and  become  a  deaf,  harsh,  sleepy,  and  cowardly  France, 
making  her  bed  in  shame  and  iniquity! 

How  many  years  and  generations  would  be  needed  to 
arouse  her  from  that  abominable  somnolence  ?  For  a  mo- 
ment Marc  despaired ;  he  deemed  his  country  lost ;  it  was 


420  TRUTH 

as  if  he  could  hear  Fe>ou's  maledictions  arising  from  the 
grave:  '  France  doomed,  completely  rotted  by  the  priests, 
poisoned  by  a  filthy  press,  sunk  in  such  a  morass  of  ignor- 
ance and  credulity  that  never  would  one  be  able  to  extri- 
cate her.'  On  the  morrow  of  the  monstrous  verdict  of 
Rozan  he  had  still  imagined  an  awakening  to  be  possible, 
he  had  awaited  a  rising  of  upright  consciences  and  healthy 
minds;  but  none  had  stirred,  the  bravest  seemed  to  hide 
themselves  away  in  their  corners,  and  the  supreme  ignominy 
took  its  course,  thanks  to  the  universal  imbecility  and 
cowardice. 

As  he  went  about  Maillebois,  Marc  caught  sight  of  Darras, 
who  now  pulled  a  very  long  face,  though  he  was  simply  in 
despair  at  the  mayoralty  again  escaping  him,  owing  to  the 
triumph  of  the  clerical  party.  Then,  on  meeting  Fernand 
Bongard,  the  Doloirs  and  the  Savins,  his  former  pupils, 
Marc  felt  greatly  distressed,  for  he  now  realised,  decisively, 
that  he  had  been  able  to  impart  to  them  little  if  any  social 
equity  and  civic  courage.  Fernand  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
bent  on  knowing  nothing.  The  Doloirs  had  again  begun 
to  doubt  Simon's  innocence;  while  as  for  the  twin  Savins, 
if  they  remained  convinced  of  it,  they  argued  that  they 
could  not  effect  a  revolution  by  themselves,  and  that,  after 
all,  one  Jew  more  or  less  was  a  matter  of  no  importance. 
Terror  reigned,  people  hurried  home,  resolved  to  compro- 
mise themselves  no  further.  Things  were  even  worse  at 
Beaumont,  whither  Marc  repaired  to  see  if  he  could  not 
arouse  some  influential  people  and  persuade  them  to  at- 
tempt a  last  effort  to  have  the  infamous  verdict  set  aside. 
Lemarrois,  to  whom  he  thus  ventured  to  apply,  seemed  to 
take  him  for  a  madman ;  and  discarding  his  usual  courteous 
kindliness,  he  plainly,  almost  roughly,  told  him  that  the 
affair  was  ended,  and  that  any  attempt  to  revise  it  would  be 
insane,  for  the  country  was  utterly  sick  and  weary  of  the 
whole  business.  It  had  become  most  hurtful  as  a  basis  for 
political  action,  and  if  the  clerical  reactionaries  were  allowed 
an  opportunity  to  exploit  it  any  further,  the  Republic  would 
certainly  be  undone  at  the  approaching  elections.  The  elec- 
tions indeed!  That  was  again  the  great  argument.  The 
only  policy  was  to  bury  the  supreme  iniquity  in  even  deeper 
silence  than  after  the  first  trial.  There  was  no  need  of  any 
understanding  to  that  effect.  The  deputies,  the  senators, 
the  prefect,  the  officials,  all  sank  instinctively  into  perfect 
silence,  in  the  dread  they  felt  at  the  thought  of  the  twice 


TRUTH  421 

condemned  but  innocent  man.  And  once'  again  former 
Republicans  and  Voltaireans  like  Lemarrois  drew  yet  nearer 
to  the  Church,  whose  help  they  thought  they  might  require 
to  resist  the  rising  tide  of  Socialism.  Lemarrois,  personally, 
had  been  pleased  to  see  his  adversary  Delbos  defeated  at 
Rozan,  and  in  resorting  to  a  cowardly  policy  of  silence  he 
was  largely  influenced  by  a  desire  to  let  Simon's  compro- 
mised champions  drown  themselves.  Amid  that  general 
cttbdcle  only  Marcilly  retained  his  amiable  smile.  He  had 
already  held  the  portfolio  of  Public  Instruction  in  a  Radical 
ministry,  and  felt  certain  of  securing  it  again,  some  day,  in 
a  Moderate  one.  And  so  convinced  was  he  now  of  the 
irresistible  power  of  his  suppleness  and  his  freely-bestowed 
hand-shakes  that,  alone  amongst  those  to  whom  Marc  ap- 
plied, he  gave  him  a  cordial  greeting;  and,  without  making 
any  express  promise,  allowed  him  to  hope  for  everything 
should  he  (Marcilly)  return  to  power. 

For  the  moment  the  Congregations  became  triumphant. 
What  a  relief  it  was  to  think  that  Father  Crabot,  his  accom- 
plices and  his  creatures,  were  saved!  Ex-presiding  Judge 
Gragnon  gave  a  grand  dinner,  followed  by  a  reception,  to 
which  flocked  all  the  members  of  the  judicial  world,  with 
many  functionaries  and  even  university  men.  They  smiled 
and  shook  hands,  well  pleased  at  finding  themselves  alive 
after  incurring  such  serious  danger.  Every  morning  Le 
Petit  Beaumontais  celebrated  the  victory  of  the  valiant 
soldiers  of  God  and  the  country.  Then,  all  at  once,  it  be- 
came silent,  in  compliance  no  doubt  with  some  hint  received 
from  exalted  spheres.  The  fact  was  that  amid  all  the  stir 
of  victory  everybody  began  to  detect  moral  defeat.  Fear  of 
the  morrow  revived,  and  it  was  deemed  prudent  to  divert 
people's  minds. 

Moreover,  the  Rozan  jurors  had  now  made  revelations;  it 
was  known  that  they  had  convicted  Simon  merely  by  a  ma- 
jority of  seven  to  five,  and  that  on  quitting  the  court  they 
had  unanimously  signed  a  recommendation  for  pardon. 
They  could  not  have  confessed  more  plainly  the  mortal  em- 
barrassment in  which  they  had  been  placed,  the  cruel  ne- 
cessity of  confirming  the  former  verdict  of  Beaumont,  even 
though  they  retained  little  doubt  of  the  prisoner's  inno- 
cence. And  the  extraordinary  course  taken  by  that  jury, 
which,  in  the  most  contradictory  way,  at  one  moment  con- 
demned Simon  and  at  another  absolved  him,  tended  to 
make  his  innocence  manifest  to  everybody.  A  pardon  was 


422  TRUTH 

felt  to  be  so  necessary  and  so  inevitable  that  nobody  was 
surprised  when  one  was  signed  a  few  days  later.  Le  Petit 
Beaumontais  thought  fit  to  insult  the  dirty  Jew  a  last  time, 
but  even  the  managers  of  that  unprincipled  rag  heaved  a 
sigh  of  relief,  glad  to  be  at  last  delivered  from  the  abomin- 
able part  they  had  played  for  so  many  years. 

David  was  beset  by  a  final  anguish,  a  frightful  struggle  of 
conscience,  in  connection  with  that  pardon.  His  brother's 
strength  was  quite  spent,  fever  consumed  him,  he  was  so 
exhausted,  both  physically  and  morally,  that,  doubtless,  he 
would  merely  return  to  prison  to  die  there.  And,  on  the 
other  hand,  a  weeping  wife  and  children  awaited  him,  still 
hoping  that  they  might  save  him  by  dint  of  care  and  love. 
Nevertheless,  David  at  first  rejected  the  idea  of  a  pardon, 
and,  before  everything  else,  wished  to  consult  Marc,  Del- 
bos,  and  the  other  valiant  defenders  of  the  innocent  prisoner; 
for  he  well  understood  that,  even  if  the  pardon  would  not 
deprive  Simon  of  the  right  of  some  day  establishing  his 
innocence,  it  would  rob  the  others  of  their  most  powerful 
means  of  prosecuting  that  cause  of  justice  to  which  they 
had  given  their  lives.  But,  however  grieved  they  might  be, 
all  bowed  to  the  suggestion  of  a  pardon,  and  David  then  ac- 
cepted it.  At  the  same  time  it  was  felt  by  Marc  and  Delbos 
that  the  Congregations  had  good  reason  to  be  triumphant, 
for,  humanly,  the  Simon  affair  was  ended  by  that  pardon, 
in  consequence  of  which  it  would  no  longer  stir  the  multi- 
tude to  a  sense  of  equity  and  generosity. 

The  question  of  Simon's  future  was  speedily  settled.  It 
was  impossible  to  take  him  back  to  Maillebois,  where 
Madame  Simon  had  decided  to  remain  a  little  longer  with 
her  children,  Joseph  and  Sarah,  who  were  awaiting  the  re- 
opening of  the  neighbouring  training  schools.  David  once 
more  took  everything  on  himself.  He  had  long  previously 
formed  his  plans,  which  were  to  dispose  of  his  sand  and 
gravel  pits,  and  acquire  a  marble  quarry  in  a  lonely  valley 
of  the  Pyrenees — an  excellent  affair,  which  a  friend  had 
recommended  to  him  and  which  he  had  carefully  studied. 
He  meant  to  remove  Simon  thither,  taking  him  as  a  partner, 
and  assuredly  the  mountain  air  and  the  delight  of  active 
life  would  restore  his  health  within  six  months'  time.  As 
soon  as  the  installation  should  be  effected  Madame  Simon 
might  rejoin  her  husband,  and  even  the  children  might  end 
the  vacation  in  their  father's  company.  All  this  was  carried 
into  effect  with  remarkable  precision  and  despatch.  Simon 


TRUTH  423 

was  conjured  away  from  Rozan,  which  was  still  in  an 
agitated  state,  and  for  a  time  nobody  even  suspected  that 
he  had  been  removed.  He  travelled  unrecognised,  vanish- 
ing with  David  into  that  lonely  valley,  embosomed  amid 
lofty  peaks.  It  only  became  known  by  a  newspaper  article 
that  his  family  had  joined  him.  From  that  moment  he 
altogether  disappeared,  and  people  even  began  to  forget  his 
existence. 

On  the  very  day  when  the  Simon  family  found  itself  re- 
united in  that  Pyrenean  solitude,  Marc  repaired  to  the 
Training  College  of  Beaumont,  whither  an  urgent  letter 
from  Salvan  had  summoned  him.  And  as  soon  as  they 
had  shaken  hands  they  began  to  talk  of  the  Simons,  evoking 
the  sweet  and  touching  scene  which  was  being  enacted  far 
away — indeed  at  the  other  end  of  France. 

'  We  must  all  take  it  as  our  reward,'  said  Salvan.  '  If  we 
have  not  yet  managed  to  make  the  affair  yield  the  great 
social  lesson  and  the  penalties  that  attach  to  it,  we  have  at 
least  brought  this  happiness  to  pass,  we  have  restored  the 
poor  martyr  to  his  wife  and  his  children.' 

'  Yes,'  said  Marc,  '  I  have  been  thinking  of  it  ever  since 
this  morning.  I  can  picture  them  all  together,  smiling,  in 
peace,  under  the  broad  blue  sky.  And,  for  that  poor  man 
so  long  fastened  to  his  chain,  what  a  delight  it  must  be  to 
be  able  to  walk  about  freely,  inhaling  the  freshness  of  the 
mountain  springs,  the  pure  odours  of  the  plants  and  trees! 
The  dear  children,  too,  and  the  dear  wife,  how  happy  they 
must  feel  to  see  their  dream  realised,  to  have  him  beside 
them  again,  to  take  him  about  like  a  big  child  just  recover- 
ing from  a  severe  illness,  and  watch  him  reviving  to  health 
and  strength!  .  .  .  You  are  right,  it  is  our  reward — the 
only  one.' 

He  paused,  then  added  in  a  lower  voice  with  some  of 
the  bitterness  of  a  combatant  who  laments  that  his  weapon 
should  have  been  broken  in  his  hand:  'Our  rdle  is  quite 
over.  A  pardon  was  inevitable,  no  doubt,  but  it  has  de- 
prived us  of  all  power  of  action.  We  can  only  wait  for  the 
crop  of  good  grain  we  have  sown — that  is,  if  ever  it  will 
sprout  up  in  the  hard  ground  where  we  have  scattered  it.' 

'Oh!  it  will  rise,  never  fear,  my  friend,'  Salvan  exclaimed. 
*  We  must  never  despair  of  our  poor,  great  country.  It  may 
be  deceived,  it  may  deceive  itself,  but  it  always  returns 
to  truth  and  reason.  Let  us  rest  satisfied  with  our  work, 
it  will  bear  fruit  in  the  future.'  Then,  after  a  pause,  he 


424  TRUTH 

continued  in  a  thoughtful  way:  '  But  I  agree  with  you  that 
our  victory  will  not  be  immediate.  The  times  are  really 
execrable;  never  have  we  passed  through  a  more  troublous 
and  threatening  period.  And,  indeed,  if  I  asked  you  to 
call  to-day,  it  was  in  order  to  talk  to  you  of  the  present 
disquieting  situation.' 

Then  he  acquainted  Marc  with  what  he  had  learnt. 
Since  the  trial  at  Rozan,  all  the  recognised  Simonists,  all 
the  brave  men  who  had  become  compromised  in  the  affair, 
had  found  themselves  exposed  to  the  vengeance  of  the 
Congregations,  the  hatred  of  the  egotistical  and  cowardly 
multitude.  Undoubtedly  they  would  be  made  to  pay 
heavily  in  their  interests  and  their  persons  for  the  crime 
they  had  committed  by  supporting  the  cause  of  truth  and 
justice. 

'  Have  you  heard  that  nobody  now  bows  to  Delbos  at  the 
Palace  of  Justice  ? '  said  Salvan.  '  Half  the  cases  confided 
to  him  have  been  withdrawn.  Clients  regard  him  as  being 
altogether  too  compromising.  He  has  to  begin  his  career 
afresh;  and  at  the  next  elections  he  will  certainly  be  de- 
feated again,  for  the  affair  has  led  to  disruption  even  in  the 
Socialist  ranks.  .  .  .  For  my  own  part,  I  shall  prob- 
ably be  dismissed ' 

'  Dismissed  ?  You ! '  interrupted  Marc  in  accents  of  sur- 
prise and  grief. 

'  Why,  yes,  my  friend.  You  are  not  ignorant  of  the  fact 
that  Mauraisin  has  long  coveted  my  post.  He  never  man- 
oeuvred otherwise  than  in  order  to  dislodge  me.  His  pro- 
longed flirtation  with  the  Church  party  has  been  simply  a 
matter  of  tactics  in  order  to  secure  its  support  in  the  hour 
of  victory.  After  the  inquiry  of  the  Court  of  Cassation  he 
certainly  felt  frightened,  and  began  to  say  that  he  had 
always  regarded  Simon  as  innocent.  But,  since  Simon  was 
reconvicted,  Mauraisin  has  again  been  barking  with  the 
clerical  pack,  feeling  convinced  that  Le  Barazer  will  be 
compelled  to  dismiss  me  by  the  pressure  brought  to  bear 
on  him  by  all  the  victorious  reactionary  forces.  It  will 
astonish  me  very  much  if  I  am  still  here  when  the  new  term 
begins  in  October. ' 

Marc  again  began  to  express  his  grief;  and,  moreover,  he 
refused  to  believe  Salvan.  He  recalled  all  the  services 
which  the  latter  had  rendered,  and  set  forth  the  necessity 
of  persevering  with  the  great  work  of  saving  France  from 
falsehood  and  credulity.  '  You  cannot  leave  before  your 


TRUTH  425 

task  is  accomplished,'  he  added;  'there  remains  so  much 
for  you  to  do.  Although  Le  Barazer  has  never  spoken  out 
plainly,  he  has  been  at  heart  on  our  side,  and  I  am  sure 
that  he  will  never  be  guilty  of  such  a  bad  action  as  to  dis- 
miss you.' 

Salvan  smiled  somewhat  sadly.  '  In  the  first  place, '  he 
answered,  'nobody  is  indispensable;  I  may  disappear,  but 
others  will  rise  to  continue  the  good  work  we  have  begun. 
Mauraisin  may  take  my  place,  but  I  am  convinced  that  he 
will  do  no  great  harm,  for  he  will  not  retain  it  long,  and  he 
will  be  forced  to  follow  in  my  footsteps.  Some  work,  you 
see,  when  once  it  has  been  begun,  is  accomplished  by  the 
very  force  of  human  evolution,  and  remains  independent 
of  any  particular,  individual  men.  .  .  .  But  one  might 
think  by  the  way  you  talk  that  you  did  not  know  Le  Bara- 
zer. We  are,  personally,  of  little  account  in  his  intricate 
republican  diplomacy.  He  was  on  our  side,  that  is  certain; 
he  would  be  with  us  still  if  we  had  won  the  battle.  But 
our  defeat  has  placed  him  into  the  greatest  possible  embar- 
rassment. He  really  has  but  one  desire,  to  save  his  work, 
the  system  of  secular  and  compulsory  education  of  which  he 
was  one  of  the  creators.  Thus,  as  the  Church  has  regained 
power  for  the  moment  and  threatens  his  work,  he  will  resign 
himself  to  necessary  sacrifices  and  temporise  until  he  is  able 
to  speak  as  a  master  in  his  turn.  Such  is  his  nature,  and 
we  cannot  alter  him.' 

Salvan  continued  in  this  strain,  enumerating  all  the  influ- 
ences which  were  being  brought  to  bear  on  Le  Barazer. 
Rector  Forbes,  who  was  so  desirous  of  quietude  and  who  so 
greatly  feared  worries  with  the  minister,  had  plainly  told 
him  that  he  must  satisfy  the  demands  of  the  opposition 
deputies.  These,  at  the  head  of  whom  Count  Hector  de 
Sangleboeuf  distinguished  himself  by  his  violence,  were 
making  every  effort  to  secure  the  dismissal  of  all  the  notor- 
ious Simonists  belonging  to  the  civil  and  the  educational  ser- 
vices. And  none  of  the  Republican  deputies,  not  even  the 
radical  Lemarrois,  moved;  indeed,  they  consented  to  that 
hecatomb  in  order  to  pacify  public  opinion,  anxious  as  they 
were  to  lose  as  few  electors  as  possible.  At  present,  also, 
professors  and  masters  followed  the  example  of  Principal 
Depinvilliers,  attending  Mass  with  their  wives  and  daughters 
every  Sunday.  Then,  at  the  Lyce"e  of  Beaumont,  the  chap- 
lain reigned  supreme;  religious  exercises  were  becoming 
compulsory;  all  pupils  who  refused  attendance  were  badly 


426  TRUTH 

noted,  harassed  and  ill-treated  until  no  resource  was  left 
them  but  to  comply  or  quit.  Father  Crabot  made  his  hand 
felt  at  that  Lyce'e  with  the  same  reactionary  authority  that 
he  displayed  in  the  management  of  the  College  of  Valmarie. 
And  the  increasing  audacity  of  the  Congregations  was 
demonstrated  by  the  fact  that  the  Jesuit  professors  of  Val- 
marie now  openly  acknowledged  their  standing,  whereas 
previously,  in  order  to  defeat  the  laws,  they  had  outwardly 
passed  themselves  off  as  secular  priests. 

'  That  is  how  we  stand,'  Salvan  concluded.  '  Thanks  to 
the  reconviction  of  Simon,  they  speak  as  masters,  and  wring 
whatever  they  please  from  the  universal  cowardice  and 
imbecility.  .  .  .  It  is  already  said  that  Mademoiselle 
Rouzaire  is  to  be  appointed  head-mistress  of  the  chief  girls' 
school  in  Beaumont.  Jauffre,  now  at  Jonville,  is  also  to 
be  appointed  here,  it  seems;  for  he  has  threatened  to  turn 
against  Abbe  Cognasse  if  there  should  be  any  further  delay 
in  rewarding  his  services.  Finally,  Doutrequin,  once  a 
Republican,  who  has  rallied  to  the  Church  from  a  deplor- 
able aberration  of  patriotism,  has  secured  two  suburban 
schools  for  his  sons,  who  have  made  Nationalism  and  Anti- 
Semitism  their  chief  dogmas,  so  that  we  are  now  once  more 
in  a  period  of  acute  reaction — the  last  we  shall  witness,  I 
hope,  pending  the  day  when  the  country  will  spit  out  the 
poison  which  is  killing  it.  ...  And  if  I  am  dismissed, 
my  friend — you  suspect  it,  do  you  not  ? — you  will  be  dis- 
missed also.' 

Marc  smiled.  He  now  understood  why  Salvan  had  sent 
for  him  in  all  haste.  '  So  I  am  condemned  ? '  he  said. 

'  Yes,  I  am  afraid  so ;  and  I  wished  to  warn  you  of  it  im- 
mediately. .  .  .  Oh!  the  thing  is  not  settled  yet;  Le 
Barazer  remains  silent,  biding  his  time,  as  it  were,  and  say- 
ing nothing  of  his  intentions.  But  you  can  have  no  idea  of 
the  assaults  he  has  to  withstand,  particularly  with  respect 
to  yourself.  Naturally  enough,  it  is  your  dismissal  that  is 
most  urgently  demanded.  I  was  talking  to  you  just  now 
of  that  big  simpleton  Sanglebceuf,  that  puppet  whose 
strings  are  pulled  by  the  old  Marchioness  de  Boise,  whom 
he  drives  to  despair,  I  hear,  so  clumsily  does  he  execute  the 
movements  which  she  directs.  Well,  three  times  already 
Sanglebceuf  has  bounced  up  to  the  Prefecture  to  threaten 
Le  Barazer  with  an  interpellation  in  the  Chamber  of 
Deputies  if  he  does  not  come  to  an  understanding  with 
Prefect  Hennebise  to  annihilate  you.  You  would  be  already 


TRUTH  427 

dead,  I  think,  if  it  had  not  been  for  the  arrogance  of  that 
ultimatum.  But  it  is  n't  possible  for  Le  Barazer  to  resist 
much  longer,  my  poor  friend.  And  you  must  n't  bear  him 
any  malice.  Remember  all  the  quiet  obstinacy  and  diplo- 
matic skill  with  which  for  many  years  he  supported  you. 
He  always  found  some  means  of  saving  you  by  granting 
compensations  to  your  adversaries.  But  now  it  is  all  over, 
I  have  not  even  spoken  to  him  about  you.  All  efforts  on 
your  behalf  would  be  useless.  You  must  let  him  act  as  he 
pleases.  Doubtless  he  is  only  delaying  his  decision  in  order 
to  devise  something  ingenious;  for  he  himself  does  not  like 
to  be  defeated,  and  he  will  never  relinquish  his  efforts  on 
behalf  of  his  work,  that  system  of  secular  and  compulsory 
education  which  alone  can  give  us  a  new  France.' 

Marc  smiled  no  longer;  indeed,  he  had  become  very  sad. 
'  It  will  be  a  great  blow,'  he  answered.  '  I  shall  leave  the 
best  of  myself  behind  me  in  that  school  of  Maillebois, 
among  those  dear  lads  whom  I  regard  almost  as  my  own 
children.  .  .  .  Besides,  what  shall  I  do  if  my  career  is 
thus  brought  to  an  end  ?  I  am  not  competent  to  take  up 
any  other  useful  work,  and  how  painful  it  will  be  to  see  the 
work  I  have  been  doing  interrupted,  left  unfinished  at  the 
very  moment  when,  more  than  ever,  truth  has  need  of  sturdy 
workers. ' 

But  Salvan  in  his  turn  bravely  smiled,  and,  taking  hold 
of  Marc's  hands,  said  to  him:  '  Come,  don't  lose  your  cour- 
age. We  shall  surely  find  something  to  do;  we  sha'n't 
remain  with  our  arms  crossed.' 

Then  Marc,  feeling  comforted,  replied:  '  You  are  right! 
When  a  man  like  you  is  struck,  one  can  follow  him  into  dis- 
grace without  thought  of  shame.  The  future,  at  all  events, 
belongs  to  us.' 

A  few  more  days  went  by.  At  Maillebois  the  victorious 
Congregations  were  endeavouring  to  turn  the  situation  to 
pecuniary  account.  Great  efforts  were  made  to  restore  the 
former  prosperity  of  the  Brothers'  school,  several  families 
were  won  over,  and  it  seemed  likely  that  at  the  new  term 
the  school  would  gain  a  dozen  fresh  pupils.  Meantime 
the  Capuchins  showed  extraordinary  audacity.  Was  it 
not,  after  all,  the  glorious  St.  Antony  of  Padua  who  had 
managed  everything,  obtained  everything  from  the  benevo- 
lence of  heaven  ?  Indeed,  it  could  not  be  denied.  It  was 
to  him  that  one  owed  the  reconviction  of  Simon,  thanks  to 
the  franc  and  two-franc  pieces  which  so  many  pious  souls 


428  TRUTH 

had  dropped  into  the  saint's  collection-boxes  while  asking 
him  to  bring  about  the  annihilation  of  the  Jew.  Thus  a 
fresh  miracle  had  been  performed.  Never  before  had  the 
saint's  power  been  manifested  in  so  lofty  a  manner,  and  as 
a  natural  result  offerings  poured  in  from  all  sides.  More- 
over, Father  The"odose,  encouraged,  inspired  by  this  suc- 
cess, conceived  a  masterly  plan  to  reap  another  large  harvest 
of  money  by  the  saint's  aid.  He  launched  an  extraordinary 
financial  affair  with  mortgage  bonds  on  Paradise,  each  bond 
being  of  five  francs'  value.  The  district  was  flooded  with 
circulars  and  prospectuses  explaining  the  ingenious  working 
of  these  investments  in  celestial  felicity.  Each  bond  com- 
prised ten  coupons  of  half  a  franc,  representing  good  works, 
prayers,  and  masses  payable  as  interest  here  below,  and  re- 
deemable in  heaven  at  the  cashier's  office  of  the  miracle- 
working  St.  Antony.  Premiums  were  also  offered  in  order 
to  attract  subscribers.  Twenty  bonds  gave  one  a  right  to  a 
coloured  statuette  of  the  saint,  and  a  hundred  ensured  one 
an  annual  Mass.  Finally,  the  prospectus  explained  that 
the  name  of  St.  Antony's  Bonds  was  given  to  this  scrip, 
because  it  was  the  saint  who  would  redeem  it  a  hundred- 
fold in  the  next  world.  And  the  announcement  ended 
with  these  words:  '  Such  supernatural  guarantees  make 
these  bonds  absolutely  safe.  No  financial  catastrophe  can 
threaten  them.  Even  the  destruction  of  the  world,  at  the 
end  of  time,  would  leave  them  in  force,  or  rather  would  at 
once  place  the  holders  in  the  enjoyment  of  the  full  capital- 
ised interest.'  * 

The  success  was  enormous.  In  a  few  weeks'  time  thou- 
sands of  bonds  had  been  sold.  Those  devotees  who  were 
too  poor  to  buy  a  whole  one  clubbed  together,  and  then 
divided  the  coupons.  Credulous  and  suffering  souls  eagerly 
risked  their  money  in  this  new  lottery,  whose  great  prize 
was  to  be  the  realisation  of  a  fondly  dreamt-of  eternity  of 
happy  life.  It  was  certainly  rumoured  that  Monseigneur 
Bergerot  intended  to  prohibit  this  impudent  speculation 
which  scandalised  the  more  reasonable  Catholics;  but  in 
the  unpleasant  position  in  which  the  prelate  had  been 
placed  by  the  defeat  of  the  Simonists,  whom  he  was  accused 
of  having  stealthily  supported,  he  was  doubtless  afraid  to 
do  so.  Though  it  greatly  distressed  him  to  abandon  the 

1  As  some  readers  might  think  this  an  invention  on  M.  Zola's  part,  it 
is  as  well  to  mention  that  the  prospectus  referred  to  was  actually  issued 
by  a  French  religious  community. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  429 

Church  to  the  rising  tide  of  superstition,  he  had  found  that 
he  could  place  little  reliance  on  his  clergy,  and  thus  he  had 
never  had  the  courage  to  resist  the  all-powerful  Congrega- 
tions. Aged  as  he  now  was,  he  had  become  weaker  still, 
only  retaining  enough  strength  to  kneel  and  beg  God's  for- 
giveness for  thus  suffering  the  merchants  to  invade  the 
temple.  But  Abb£  Quandieu,  the  priest  of  St.  Martin's, 
could  not  bear  that  desecration  any  longer.  All  his  Chris- 
tian resignation  forsook  him  when  the  so-called  Bonds  of 
St.  Antony  made  their  appearance.  Such  trafficking  was 
too  outrageous,  and  he  gave  expression  in  the  pulpit  to  his 
revolt  as  a  minister  of  Christ,  his  grief  at  beholding  the 
base  downfall  of  that  great  Christianity  which  had  renewed 
the  world,  and  which  so  many  illustrious  minds  had  raised 
to  the  purest  summits  of  ideality.  Then  he  paid  a  last  visit 
to  his  Bishop  and  friend,  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  and  find- 
ing him  unable  to  continue  the  struggle,  feeling  too  that  he 
himself  was  vanquished  and  paralysed,  he  resigned  his  cure 
and  withdrew  to  a  little  house  in  the  outskirts  of  Maillebois, 
intending  to  dwell  there  on  a  scanty  income,  outside  that 
Church  whose  policy  of  hatred  and  whose  basely  supersti- 
tious worship  he  could  no  longer  serve. 

The  Capuchins  deemed  the  opportunity  favourable  for  a 
fresh  triumph  in  celebration  of  what  Father  Theodose  styled 
the  flight  of  their  former  adversary.  By  careful  manoau- 
vring  the  Bishop  had  been  induced  to  appoint  a  young  curate 
of  the  arriviste  school,  a  creature  of  Father  Crabot's,  to  the 
parish  of  Maillebois,  and  the  idea  was  to  bear  a  superb 
statue  of  St.  Antony,  all  red  and  gold,  in  solemn  proces- 
sion from  the  Capuchin  Chapel  to  St.  Martin's,  where  it 
would  be  set  up  in  great  pomp.  This  would  be  the  crown- 
ing consecration  of  the  victory  which  had  been  achieved, 
the  conquest  of  the  parish  by  the  Congregation,  the  monks 
becoming  its  sovereign  masters,  able  to  disseminate  on 
every  side  the  idolatrous  worship,  by  which  they  hoped  to 
bleed  and  abase  the  community,  and  turn  it  into  the  ignor- 
ant flock  of  the  days  of  servitude.  The  procession,  which 
took  place  one  warm  day  in  September,  with  the  co-opera- 
tion of  all  the  clergy  of  the  district,  proved  magnificent,  and 
was  attended  by  a  great  concourse  of  people  who  repaired 
to  Maillebois  from  all  points  of  the  department.  Only  the 
Place  des  Capucins  and  a  short  lane  really  separated  the 
chapel  from  the  church,  but  a  roundabout  line  of  route 
was  selected;  they  crossed  the  Place  de  la  R^publique  and 


430  TRUTH 

marched  along  the  whole  high  street,  in  this  wise  promenad- 
ing St.  Antony  from  one  to  the  other  end  of  the  town. 
Mayor  Philis,  surrounded  by  the  clerical  majority  of  the 
Municipal  Council,  followed  the  painted  statue,  which  was 
borne  on  a  platform  draped  with  red  velvet.  Although  it 
was  holiday  time,  the  whole  of  the  Brothers'  school  had 
been  mobilised,  boys  had  been  specially  recruited,  dressed, 
and  provided  with  candles.  Behind  them  came  the  Daugh- 
ters of  Mary  and  numerous  pious  brotherhoods,  sisterhoods, 
and  other  associations,  an  interminable  string  of  devotees, 
to  say  nothing  of  all  the  nuns  brought  expressly  from  the 
Beaumont  convents.  Only  Monseigneur  Bergerot  was  want- 
ing. As  it  happened  he  had  sent  a  letter  of  regret,  having 
fallen  ill  two  days  previously. 

Never  before  had  Maillebois  been  possessed  by  such 
religious  fever.  People  knelt  on  the  foot  pavements, 
men  shed  tears,  three  girls  fell  to  the  ground  in  hysteri- 
cal fits,  and  had  to  be  carried  to  a  chemist's  shop.  In 
the  evening  the  benediction  at  St.  Martin's  amid  the 
pealing  of  the  bells  was  quite  dazzling.  And  not  a  doubt 
remained;  surely  the  town  was  now  redeemed  and  for- 
given; by  that  grandiose  ceremony  Providence  signified 
its  willingness  to  wipe  out  for  ever  the  vile  memory  of 
Simon  the  Jew. 

It  so  happened  that  Salvan  came  to  Maillebois  that  day 
in  order  to  see  Madame  Berthereau,  respecting  whom  he 
had  received  some  extremely  disquieting  news.  And  he 
had  just  quitted  the  little  house  in  the  Place  des  Capucins 
when  he  caught  sight  of  Marc,  who,  on  his  way  home  after 
a  visit  to  the  Lehmanns,  had  found  his  progress  barred  by 
the  interminable  procession.  They  shook  hands  in  silence; 
then  for  some  time  were  compelled  to  remain  waiting. 
When  the  last  of  the  monks  had  gone  by  behind  the  idol  all 
ablaze  with  gilding  and  red  paint,  they  just  exchanged  a 
glance  and  took  a  few  steps  in  silence. 

'  I  was  going  to  call  on  you, '  said  Salvan  at  last. 

Marc  fancied  that  he  had  brought  him  news  of  his  dis- 
missal. '  Is  it  signed  then  ? '  he  inquired.  '  Am  I  to  pack 
my  trunks  ? ' 

'  No,  no,  my  friend;  Le  Barazer  has  given  no  signs  of  life 
as  yet.  He  is  preparing  something.  .  .  .  But  our  dis- 
missal is  certain,  you  must  take  a  little  patience.'  Then, 
ceasing  to  jest,  he  added  with  an  expression  of  grief:  '  The 
fact  is,  I  heard  that  Madame  Berthereau  was  at  the  last 


TRUTH  431 

stage  and  I  desired  to  see  her.  ...  I  have  just  left 
her,  and  her  end  is  certainly  very  near. ' 

'  Louise  came  to  warn  me  of  it  yesterday  evening,'  Marc 
replied.  '  I  should  have  liked  to  call  at  once,  as  you  have 
done.  But  Madame  Duparque  has  signified  that  she  will 
immediately  quit  the  house  if  I  should  dare  to  set  foot  in  it 
on  any  pretext.  And  though  Madame  Berthereau,  as  I 
know,  would  like  to  see  me,  she  is  afraid  to  give  expression 
to  her  desire,  for  fear  of  some  scandal  beside  her  death-bed. 
.  .  .  Ah!  my  friend,  one  can  never  overcome  the  hatred 
of  a  bigot. ' 

They  walked  on,  again  preserving  silence.  At  last  Salvan 
resumed:  '  Yes,  Madame  Duparque  keeps  good  guard,  and 
for  a  moment  I  thought  that  she  would  not  let  me  go  up- 
stairs. At  all  events  she  did  not  quit  me ;  she  kept  a  watch 
on  everything  I  said,  either  to  the  patient  or  your  wife. 
.  .  .  She  is  certainly  afraid  that  something  may  result 
from  the  blow  which  is  about  to  fall  on  the  house.  Yes, 
Madame  Berthereau,  her  daughter,  is  about  to  escape  from 
her  by  death,  and  she  fears,  perhaps,  that  Genevieve,  her 
granddaughter,  may  also  free  herself.' 

Marc  halted,  and,  giving  his  friend  a  keen  glance,  in- 
quired :  '  Did  you  notice  any  sign  of  that  ?  ' 

'Well,  yes;  but  I  did  not  wish  to  mention  it  to  you,  for 
it  would  distress  me  to  give  you  any  false  hope.  .  .  . 
But  it  was  in  connection  with  that  procession,  that  bare- 
faced idolatry  which  we  witnessed  just  now.  It  appears 
that  your  wife  absolutely  refused  to  attend  it.  And  that  is 
why  I  found  Madame  Duparque  at  home.  She,  of  course, 
was  very  desirous  of  displaying  her  piety  in  the  front  rank 
of  all  the  devotees,  but  she  feared  that  if  she  should  absent 
herself  for  a  single  moment,  you  or  some  other  soul-snatcher 
might  get  into  the  house  and  rob  her  of  her  daughter  and 
granddaughter.  So  she  remained  at  home,  and  you  can 
imagine  with  what  cold  fury  she  received  me,  trying  to 
transpierce  me  with  those  eyes  of  hers,  which  are  like 
rapiers. ' 

Marc  was  becoming  excited:  'Ah!  so  Genevieve  refused 
to  attend  that  procession!  She  understood  its  hurtfulness, 
its  baseness  and  folly,  then;  and  she  is  returning  in  some 
degree  to  the  healthy  commonsense  she  used  to  show  ? ' 

'  No  doubt,'  Salvan  answered.  '  I  believe  that  she  felt 
particularly  hurt  by  those  ridiculous  mortgage  bonds  on 
Paradise.  .  .  .  Ah!  what  a  master-stroke,  my  friend! 


432  TRUTH 

Never  before  was  human  imbecility  exploited  to  such  a 
degree  by  religious  impudence.' 

While  conversing  the  friends  had  slowly  directed  their 
steps  towards  the  railway  station,  where  Salvan  intended  to 
take  the  train  in  order  to  return  to  Beaumont.  He  did  so, 
and  Marc,  on  quitting  him,  felt  once  again  full  of  hope. 

As  Salvan  had  indeed  suggested,  Genevieve — in  that  little 
house  of  the  Place  des  Capucins,  which  had  become  yet 
more  mournful  and  frigid  now  that  death  hovered  over  it  so 
threateningly  —  was  assailed  by  another  crisis  which  was 
gradually  transforming  her.  At  first  she  had  been  thunder- 
struck by  the  revelation  of  the  truth,  the  certainty  of  Simon's 
innocence,  which  the  perusal  of  all  the  documents  had 
brought  her — that  terrible  light  whose  blaze  had  revealed  to 
her  the  infamy  of  the  holy  men  whom  she  had  hitherto  ac- 
cepted as  the  directors  of  her  conscience  and  her  heart. 
All  came  from  that,  doubt  penetrated  into  her  mind,  faith 
took  flight,  she  could  not  do  otherwise  than  reflect,  examine 
and  judge  everything.  A  feeling  of  disquietude  had  already 
come  upon  her  at  the  time  when  she  quitted  Father  Theo- 
dose;  and  the  latter' s  Bonds  of  St.  Antony,  that  base 
attempt  to  exploit  the  credulity  of  the  public,  had  suddenly 
shown  her  his  venality  and  disgusted  her  with  him.  More- 
over, not  only  did  the  monk's  character  decline  in  her  esti- 
mation to  the  lowest  level,  but  the  worship  he  represented 
— that  religion  which  had  cast  her  into  transports  of  mystical 
desire  likewise  lost  its  semblance  of  holiness.  What!  must 
she  accept  that  unworthy  trafficking,  that  idolatrous  super- 
stition, if  she  desired  to  remain  a  practising  Catholic,  stead- 
fast in  her  faith  ?  She  had  long  bowed  to  beliefs  and 
mysteries,  even  when  her  natural  good  sense  had  covertly 
protested  against  them ;  but  there  were  limits  to  everything. 
She  could  not  countenance  that  flotation  of  shares  in  heaven ; 
she  refused  to  walk  behind  that  St.  Antony,  bedaubed 
with  red  and  gold  and  carried  about  like  a  guy  or  an  adver- 
tisement, to  increase  the  multitude  of  subscribers.  And  the 
revolt  of  her  reason  gathered  additional  strength  when  she 
thought  of  the  retirement  of  Abbe  Quandieu,  the  gentle 
and  paternal  confessor,  to  whom  she  had  returned  when  the 
suspicious  ardour  of  Father  Theodose  had  alarmed  her.  If 
such  a  man  as  the  Abb£  felt  unable  to  abide  in  the  Church, 
such  as  it  had  been  made  by  the  clerical  policy  of  hatred 
and  domination,  was  it  not  certain  that  all  upright  souls 
would  henceforth  find  it  difficult  to  remain  in  it  ? 


TRUTH  433 

Doubtless,  however,  Genevieve's  evolution  would  not 
have  been  so  rapid  if  certain  preparatory  work  had  not 
been  already  effected  in  her,  slowly  and  without  her  know- 
ledge. In  order  that  one  might  fully  understand  those  first 
causes,  it  was  necessary  to  recall  the  whole  of  her  story. 
Inheriting  much  of  her  father's  nature — tender,  gay,  and 
amorous — she  had  fallen  in  love  with  Marc,  carried  away 
by  such  ardent  passion  that,  in  order  to  have  that  modest 
schoolmaster  as  her  husband,  she  was  willing  to  dwell  with 
him  almost  in  poverty,  in  the  depths  of  a  lonely  village. 
Weary,  too,  in  her  eighteenth  year,  of  the  mournful  life  she 
had  led  beside  Madame  Duparque,  the  idea  of  liberty  had 
attracted  her;  and  for  a  moment  it  had  seemed  as  if  she 
had  cast  aside  all  her  pious  training,  for  with  her  husband 
she  had  displayed  such  youthful  enchantment  that  he  had 
been  able  to  think  she  was  wholly  his.  Moreover,  if  any 
fears  lurked  within  him,  he  had  dismissed  them,  setting 
himself  to  worship  her,  imagining  he  would  be  powerful 
enough  to  recast  her  in  his  own  image,  and  so  carried  away 
by  the  happiness  of  the  hour  that  he  deferred  that  moral 
conquest  till  some  other  time. 

But  her  past  had  revived,  and  again  he  had  shown  weak- 
ness, delaying  action  under  the  pretext  of  respecting  the 
freedom  of  her  conscience,  and  allowing  her  to  return  to 
religious  observances.  All  her  childhood  then  came  back, 
the  mystical  poison  which  had  not  been  eliminated  from 
her  system  asserted  itself,  and  the  crisis  which  fatally  assails 
the  souls  of  women  nourished  on  errors  and  falsehoods 
arrived,  her  case  being  aggravated  by  her  frequentation  of 
that  bigoted  and  domineering  woman,  her  grandmother. 
Then  a  whole  series  of  incidents — the  Simon  case,  the  post- 
ponement of  Louise's  first  Communion — had  precipitated 
the  rupture  between  husband  and  wife.  In  Genevieve  there 
glowed  a  desire  for  the  au-delb  of  passion,  a  hope  of  finding 
in  heaven  the  divine  and  boundless  bliss  promised  to  her 
formerly  in  her  girlish  days;  and  her  love  for  Marc  had 
simply  become  dimmed  amid  her  dream  of  the  ecstasies 
which  the  canticles  celebrate,  an  ever  loftier  and  ever  de- 
ceptive delight.  But  in  vain  had  others  excited  her,  lied  to 
her,  set  her  against  her  husband,  by  promising  to  raise  her 
to  the  highest  truth,  the  most  perfect  felicity.  The  failure, 
the  defeat  she  ever  encountered,  sprang  from  her  abandon- 
ment of  the  only  natural  and  possible  human  happiness;  for 
never  since  that  time  had  she  been  able  to  content  her 
•6 


434  TRUTH 

longings.  She  had  lived,  indeed,  amid  increasing  distress 
without  either  repose  or  joy,  however  stubbornly  she  might 
declare  that  she  had  found  felicity  in  her  deceptive  and 
empty  chimeras. 

Even  now  she  did  not  confess  in  what  a  void  she  had 
ever  remained  after  her  long  prayers  on  the  old  flagstones 
of  chapels,  her  useless  Communions,  when  she  had  vainly 
hoped  to  feel  the  flesh  and  blood  of  Jesus  mingling  with 
her  own  in  a  union  of  eternal  rapture.  But  good  Mother 
Nature  each  day  was  winning  her  back,  restoring  her  a  little 
more  to  health  and  human  love;  while  the  old  poison  of 
mysticism  became  in  an  increasing  degree  eliminated  at 
each  successive  defeat  of  religious  imposture.  Cast  for 
a  time  into  great  perturbation,  she  strove  to  divert  her 
thoughts,  to  stupefy  herself,  by  stern  and  painful  religious 
practices  in  order  that  she  might  not  be  compelled  to  under- 
stand that  her  love  for  Marc  had  reawakened,  that  she 
craved  for  rest  in  his  embrace,  in  the  one,  sole,  eternal 
certainty  which  makes  of  husband  and  wife  the  emblems  of 
health  and  happiness. 

But  quarrels  had  broken  out  between  Madame  Duparque 
and  Genevieve,  and  had  grown  more  and  more  frequent 
and  bitter.  The  grandmother  felt  that  her  granddaughter 
was  escaping  from  her.  She  watched  her  closely,  made 
her  almost  a  prisoner;  but,  whenever  a  dispute  arose,  Gene- 
vieve always  had  the  resource  of  shutting  herself  up  in  her 
own  room.  There  she  could  dwell  upon  her  thoughts,  and 
she  did  not  answer  even  when  the  terrible  old  woman  came 
up  and  hammered  at  the  door.  In  this  way  she  secluded 
herself  on  two  successive  Sundays,  refusing  to  accompany 
her  grandmother  to  vespers,  in  spite  of  both  entreaties  and 
threats. 

Madame  Duparque,  now  seventy-eight  years  old,  had  be- 
come a  most  uncompromising  bigot,  fashioned  in  that  sense 
by  a  long  life  of  absolute  servitude  to  the  Church.  Reared 
by  a  rigid  mother,  she  had  found  no  affection  in  her  husband, 
whose  mind  had  been  set  on  his  business.  For  nearly  five 
and  twenty  years  they  had  kept  a  draper's  shop  in  front  of 
the  Cathedral  of  St.  Maxence  at  Beaumont,  a  shop  whose 
custom  came  chiefly  from  the  convents  and  the  parsonages. 
And  it  was  towards  her  thirtieth  year  that  Madame  Du- 
parque, neglected  by  her  husband  and  too  upright  to  take  a 
lover,  had  begun  to  devote  herself  more  and  more  to  re- 
ligious observances.  She  checked  her  passions,  she  quieted 


TRUTH  435 

them  amid  the  ceremonies  of  the  ritual,  the  smell  of  the 
incense,  the  fervour  of  the  prayers,  the  mystical  assignations 
she  made  with  the  fair-haired  Jesus  depicted  in  pious  prints. 
Having  never  known  the  transports  of  love,  she  found  suffi- 
cient consolation  in  the  society  of  priests.  And  not  only 
did  she  derive  happiness  from  the  unctuous  gestures  and 
caressing  words  of  her  confessor,  but  even  his  occasional 
rigour,  his  threats  of  hell  and  all  its  torments,  sent  a  delight- 
ful quiver  coursing  through  her  veins.  In  blind  belief  and 
strict  adherence  to  the  most  rigid  practices,  she  found,  too, 
not  only  satisfaction  for  her  deadened  senses,  but  the  sup- 
port and  governance  she  needed  in  her  weakness  as  a 
daughter  of  the  ages.  The  Church  knows  it  well;  it  does 
not  conquer  woman  only  by  the  sensuality  of  its  worship,  it 
makes  her  its  own  by  brutalising  and  terrorising  her.  It 
treats  her  as  a  slave  habituated  to  harsh  treatment  for  cent- 
uries, a  slave  who  ends  by  feeling  a  bitter  delight  in  her  very 
servitude. 

Thus  Madame  Duparque,  broken  to  obedience  from  her 
cradle  days,  was  one  of  the  subjugated  daughters  of  the 
Church,  one  of  those  creatures  whom  it  distrusts,  strikes, 
and  disciplines,  turning  them  into  docile  instruments,  which 
enable  it  to  attack  men  and  conquer  them  in  their  turn. 
When,  after  losing  her  husband  and  liquidating  her  business, 
Madame  Duparque  had  installed  herself  at  Maillebois,  her 
one  occupation,  her  one  passion  had  become  the  practice 
of  that  authoritarian  piety,  by  which  she  strove  to  remedy 
the  spoiling  of  her  life,  and  obtain  compensation  for  all  the 
natural  joys,  all  the  human  forms  of  happiness,  which  she 
had  never  known.  And  the  roughness  with  which  she  tried 
to  impose  her  narrow,  chilling  faith  upon  her  granddaughter 
Genevieve  was  due,  in  some  degree  certainly,  to  the  regret 
she  felt  at  having  never  experienced  the  felicity  of  love, 
which  she  would  have  liked  to  forbid  her  grandchild,  as  if 
it  were  indeed  some  unknown  and  perchance  delightful  hell, 
where  she  herself  would  never  set  foot. 

But  between  the  grandmother  and  the  granddaughter 
there  was  the  doleful  Madame  Berthereau.  She  likewise 
seemed  to  be  only  a  devotee  bent  beneath  the  rule  of  the 
Church,  which  had  taken  possession  of  her  from  the  moment 
of  her  birth.  Never  for  a  single  day  had  she  ceased  to  fol- 
low its  observances.  With  loving  weakness  her  husband, 
Berthereau  the  freethinker,  had  accompanied  her  to  Mass. 
But  she  had  also  known  his  love,  the  ardent  passion  with 


436  TRUTH 

which  he  had  always  encompassed  her,  and  the  recollection 
of  it  possessed  her  for  ever.  Though  many  years  had 
elapsed  since  his  death,  she  still  belonged  to  him ;  she  lived 
on  that  one  memory,  ending  her  days  in  solitude,  in  the 
arms  of  that  dear  shade.  This  explained  her  long  spells  of 
silence,  the  resigned,  retiring  manner  she  preserved  in  the 
mournful  little  house  to  which,  as  to  a  convent,  she  had 
withdrawn  with  her  daughter  Genevieve.  She  had  never 
thought  of  marrying  again;  she  had  become  a  second 
Madame  Duparque,  rigidly  and  meticulously  pious,  clad 
invariably  in  black,  and  showing  a  waxen  countenance,  a 
cowed  and  crushed  demeanour  under  the  rough  hand  which 
weighed  so  heavily  on  the  house.  At  the  utmost  a  faint 
twinge  of  bitterness  appeared  on  her  tired  lips,  and  a  fugi- 
tive gleam  of  rebellion  shone  in  her  submissive  eyes  when 
at  times  the  memory  of  her  dead  husband,  awakening 
within  her,  filled  her  amid  the  frigid  empty  life  of  religious 
observances  in  which  she  agonised  with  bitter  regret  for 
all  the  old  happiness  of  love.  And  of  recent  times  only 
the  sight  of  her  daughter  Genevieve 's  frightful  torment, 
that  struggle  of  a  woman  for  whom  priest  and  husband  were 
contending,  had  been  able  to  draw  her  from  the  shrinking 
self-surrender  of  a  recluse  taking  no  interest  in  the  cares  of 
worldly  life,  and  lend  her  enough  courage  to  face  her  ter- 
rible mother. 

And  now  Madame  Berthereau  was  near  her  death,  well 
pleased,  personally,  by  the  prospect  of  that  deliverance. 
Nevertheless,  as  her  strength  ebbed  away,  day  by  day,  she 
felt  more  and  more  grieved  at  having  to  leave  Genevieve 
struggling  in  torture,  and  at  the  mercy  of  Madame  Duparque. 
When  she  herself  was  gone,  what  would  become  of  her  poor 
daughter  in  that  abode  of  agony,  where  she  had  suffered  so 
dreadfully  already  ?  To  the  poor  dying  woman  the  thought 
of  going  off  like  that,  without  doing  anything,  saying  any- 
thing that  might  save  her  daughter,  and  help  her  to  recover 
a  little  health  and  happiness,  became  intolerable.  It  haunted 
her,  and  one  evening,  when  it  was  still  possible  for  her  to 
speak  gently  and  very  slowly,  she  mustered  sufficient  cour- 
age to  satisfy  her  heart. 

It  was  an  evening  in  September — a  mild  and  rainy  one. 
Night  was  at  hand,  and  the  little  room,  which,  with  its  few 
old  pieces  of  walnut  furniture,  had  an  aspect  of  conventual 
simplicity,  was  gradually  growing  dim.  As  the  sick  woman 
could  not  lie  down,  for  she  then  at  once  began  to  stifle,  she 


TRUTH  437 

remained  in  a  sitting  posture,  propped  up  by  pillows,  on  a 
couch.  Although  she  was  only  fifty-six,  her  long  sad  face, 
crowned  by  snowy  hair,  looked  very  aged  indeed,  worn  and 
blanched  by  the  emptiness  of  her  life.  Genevieve  sat  near 
her  in  an  armchair,  and  Louise  had  just  come  upstairs  with 
a  cup  of  milk,  the  only  nourishment  which  the  ailing  woman 
could  still  take.  A  heavy  silence  was  lulling  the  house  to 
sleep,  the  last  clang  of  the  bells  of  the  Capuchin  Chapel 
having  just  died  away  in  the  lifeless  atmosphere  of  the  little 
deserted  square. 

'  My  daughter, '  at  last  said  Madame  Berthereau  in  accents 
which  came  from  her  lips  very  faintly  and  slowly,  'as  we  are 
alone,  I  beg  you  to  listen  to  me,  for  I  have  various  things 
to  tell  you,  and  it  is  quite  time  I  should  do  so.' 

Genevieve,  surprised,  and  anxious  as  to  the  effect  which 
this  supreme  effort  might  have  on  her  mother,  wished  her 
to  remain  silent.  But  Madame  Berthereau  made  such  a 
resolute  gesture  that  the  young  woman  merely  inquired: 
'  Do  you  wish  to  speak  to  me  alone,  mother  ?  Would  you 
like  Louise  to  go  away  ? ' 

For  a  moment  Madame  Berthereau  preserved  silence. 
She  had  turned  her  face  towards  the  girl,  who,  tall  and 
charming,  with  a  lofty  brow  and  frank  eyes,  gazed  at  her  in 
affectionate  distress.  And  the  old  lady  ended  by  murmur- 
ing: '  I  prefer  Louise  to  remain.  She  is  seventeen,  she  also 
ought  to  know.  .  .  .  Come  and  sit  here,  close  beside 
me,  my  darling.' 

Then,  the  girl  having  seated  herself  on  a  chair  by  the 
side  of  the  couch,  Madame  Berthereau  took  hold  of  her 
hands.  '  I  know  how  sensible  and  brave  you  are,'  she  said, 
'  and  if  I  have  sometimes  blamed  you,  I  none  the  less 
acknowledge  how  frank  you  are.  .  .  .  To-day,  do  you 
know,  now  that  I  am  near  my  last  hour,  I  believe  in  nothing 
save  kindness.' 

Again  she  paused  for  a  moment,  reflecting,  and  turning 
her  eyes  towards  the  open  window,  towards  the  paling  sky, 
as  if  she  were  seeking  her  long  life  of  dejection  and  resigna- 
tion in  the  farewell  gleam  of  the  sun.  Then  her  eyes  came 
back  to  her  daughter,  at  whom  for  a  while  she  remained 
gazing  with  an  expression  of  indescribable  compassion. 

'  It  grieves  me  extremely,  my  Genevieve,  to  leave  you  so 
unhappy,'  she  said.  'Ah!  do  not  say  no.  I  sometimes 
hear  you  sobbing  overhead,  at  night,  when  you  are  unable 
to  sleep.  And  I  can  picture  your  wretchedness,  the  battle 


438  TRUTH 

which  rends  your  heart.  .  .  .  For  years  now  you  have 
been  suffering,  and  I  have  not  had  even  enough  bravery  to 
succour  you.' 

Hot  tears  gathered  suddenly  in  Genevieve's  eyes.  The 
evocation  of  her  sufferings  at  that  tragic  hour  quite  upset 
her.  '  Mother,  I  beg  you,  do  not  think  of  me,"  she  stam- 
mered; '  my  only  grief  will  be  that  of  losing  you.' 

'  No,  no,  my  girl;  each  has  to  go  in  turn,  satisfied  or  in 
despair,  according  to  the  life  which  he  or  she  has  chosen. 
But  those  who  remain  behind  ought  not  to  persevere  obstin- 
ately in  useless  suffering  when  they  may  still  be  happy.' 
And  joining  her  hands,  and  raising  them  with  a  gesture  of 
ardent  entreaty,  Madame  Berthereau  added:  'Oh!  my  girl, 
I  beg  you,  do  not  remain  a  day  longer  in  this  house.  Make 
haste,  take  your  children,  and  go  back  to  your  husband.' 

Genevieve  did  not  even  have  time  to  answer.  A  tall 
black  form  was  before  her,  for  Madame  Duparque  had 
slipped  noiselessly  into  the  room.  Always  prowling  about 
the  house,  haunted  by  an  everlasting  suspicion  of  sin,  she 
began  to  worry  herself  directly  she  was  at  a  loss  to  tell 
where  Genevieve  and  Louise  might  be.  If  they  had  hidden 
themselves  did  it  not  follow  that  they  must  be  doing  some- 
thing evil  ?  Moreover,  the  old  woman  never  liked  to  leave 
them  long  with  Madame  Berthereau  for  fear  lest  something 
forbidden  should  be  said.  That  evening,  therefore,  she 
had  crept  up  the  stairs  as  quietly  as  possible,  with  her  ears 
on  the  alert;  and,  hearing  certain  words,  she  had  gently 
opened  the  door,  thus  catching  the  others  in  flagrante  delicto. 

'  What  is  that  you  say,  my  daughter  ? '  she  demanded,  her 
rasping  voice  ringing  with  angry  imperiousness. 

The  sick  woman,  pale  already,  became  quite  ghastly  at 
that  sudden  intervention,  while  Genevieve  and  Louise 
remained  thunderstruck,  alarmed  also  as  to  what  might 
now  happen. 

'  What  is  that  you  say,  my  daughter  ?  '  Madame  Duparque 
repeated.  'Are  you  not  aware  that  God  can  hear  you  ? ' 

Madame  Berthereau  had  sunk  back  on  her  pillows,  closing 
her  eyes  as  if  to  collect  her  courage.  She  had  so  greatly 
hoped  that  she  might  be  able  to  speak  to  Genevieve  alone, 
and  avoid  a  battle  with  her  redoubtable  mother.  All  her  life 
long  she  had  avoided  any  such  collision,  any  such  struggle, 
feeling  that  she  would  be  beaten  in  it.  But  now  she  had 
only  a  few  hours  left  her  to  be  good  and  brave ;  and  so  she 
opened  her  eyes,  and  dared — at  last — to  speak  out. 


TRUTH  439 

'  May  God  indeed  hear  me,  mother !  I  am  doing  my 
duty,'  she  said.  'I  have  told  my  daughter  to  take  her 
children  and  return  to  her  husband,  for  she  will  only  find 
real  health  and  happiness  in  the  home  which  she  quitted  so 
imprudently.' 

Madame  Duparque,  who  waved  her  arms  violently,  had 
been  minded  to  interrupt  her  at  the  first  word  she  spoke. 
But  awed,  perhaps,  by  the  majesty  of  death,  which  was 
already  gathering  in  the  room,  embarrassed  too  by  the 
heartfelt  cry  of  that  poor  enslaved  creature,  whose  reason 
and  whose  love  were  at  last  freeing  themselves  from  their 
shackles,  the  terrible  old  lady  allowed  her  daughter  to  finish 
her  sentence.  A  pause,  fraught  with  infinite  anguish,  then 
followed  between  those  four  women  who  were  thus  gathered 
together,  and  who  represented  four  generations  of  their 
line. 

There  was  a  certain  family  resemblance  between  them; 
they  were  all  tall,  they  had  long  faces  and  somewhat  prom- 
inent noses.  But  Madame  Duparque,  now  eight  and 
seventy,  and  displaying  a  harsh  jaw  and  rigidly  wrinkled 
cheeks,  had  grown  lean  and  sallow  in  the  practice  of  nar- 
row piety;  whereas  Madame  Berthereau,  who  had  reached 
her  fifty-sixth  year,  showed  more  flesh  and  suppleness,  in 
spite  of  her  malady,  and  still  retained  on  her  livid  face 
the  gentleness  bequeathed  by  the  brief  love  which  she 
had  tasted,  and  which  she  had  ever  mourned.  From  those 
two  solemn  women,  dark-haired  in  their  younger  days,  had 
sprung  Genevieve,  fair  and  gay,  refined  by  paternal  heredity, 
loving  and  lovable,  and  still  very  charming  at  seven  and 
thirty  years  of  age.  And  Louise,  the  last,  who  would  soon 
be  in  her  eighteenth  year,  was  in  her  turn  a  brunette,  with 
hair  of  a  deep  gilded  brown,  inherited  from  her  father, 
Marc,  who  had  also  bestowed  on  her  his  broad  forehead, 
and  his  large  bright  eyes,  glowing  with  passion  for  truth. 

In  like  way  one  detected  among  those  four  women  the 
progress  of  moral  evolution.  First  there  was  the  great- 
grandmother,  a  serf  of  the  Church,  one  whose  flesh  and 
mind  had  been  absolutely  subjugated,  who  had  become  a 
passive  instrument  of  error  and  domination ;  next  there  was 
the  daughter,  who  had  remained  a  practising  and  conquered 
Catholic,  but  who  was  disturbed,  tortured  by  her  brief  ex- 
perience of  human  happiness;  then  came  the  struggling 
granddaughter,  in  whose  poor  heart  and  mind  Catholicism 
was  fighting  its  last  battle,  who  was  almost  rent  atwain  be- 


440  TRUTH 

tween  the  mendacious  nothingness  of  her  mystical  education, 
and  the  living  reality  of  her  wifely  love  and  motherly  tender- 
ness, who  needed,  too,  all  her  strength  to  free  herself;  and 
finally  there  was  the  great-granddaughter,  who  was  at  last 
freed,  who  had  escaped  the  clutch  which  the  priest  sets 
upon  women  and  children,  and  who,  all  youth  and  health, 
had  reverted  to  happy  nature,  to  the  glorious  beneficence  of 
the  sunlight. 

But  in  faint,  slow  accents  Madame  Berthereau  was  re- 
peating: '  Listen,  my  Genevieve!  Do  not  remain  here  any 
longer.  As  soon  as  I  am  gone,  go  away — go  as  speedily  as 
you  can.  .  .  .  My  misfortunes  began  on  the  day  when 
I  lost  your  father.  He  adored  me.  The  only  hours  that  I 
ever  really  lived  were  those  that  I  spent  beside  him;  and 
I  have  often  reproached  myself  for  not  having  then  appre- 
ciated them  more,  for  in  my  stupidity  I  was  ignorant  of  their 
value,  and  I  only  understood  how  delightful,  how  unique 
they  had  been,  when  I  came  here,  a  widow,  loveless,  for 
ever  cut  off  from  the  world.  .  .  .  Ah !  the  icy  cold  of 
this  house,  how  often  has  it  made  me  shiver!  Ah!  the 
silence  and  the  gloom  in  which  I  have  gone  on  dying  for 
years,  not  even  daring  to  open  a  window  to  inhale  a  little 
life,  so  foolish  and  so  cowardly  I  was! ' 

Erect  and  motionless,  Madame  Duparque  still  refrained 
from  interrupting  her  daughter;  but  on  hearing  that  cry  of 
dolorous  rebellion  she  could  not  restrain  a  gesture  of  pro- 
test. '  I  will  not  prevent  you  from  speaking,  my  daughter, ' 
she  said  when  the  other  paused,  '  though  if  you  have  a  con- 
fession to  make  it  would  be  better  to  send  for  Father 
The"odose.  .  .  .  But  since  you  were  not  wholly  God's, 
why  did  you  seek  refuge  in  this  house  ?  You  knew  very 
well  that  here  you  would  find  none  but  God. ' 

'  I  have  confessed, '  the  dying  woman  answered  gently. 
'  I  shall  not  go  off  without  receiving  extreme  unction,  for  I 
belong  to  God  entirely,  I  can  only  belong  to  Him  now. 
.  .  And  even  if  I  suffered  so  much  from  the  loss  of 
my  husband,  I  never  regretted  having  come  here.  Where 
else  could  I  have  gone  ?  I  had  no  other  refuge.  I  was 
too  closely  linked  to  religion  to  attempt  to  seek  other  happi- 
ness, even  for  an  instant.  Thus  I  have  lived  the  life  I  was 
bound  to  live.  .  .  .  But  my  daughter,  in  her  turn,  is 
suffering  too  cruelly,  and  I  will  not  have  her  begin  my  sorry 
story  over  again,  and  fade  away  in  the  void  in  which  I  have 
agonised  for  so  many  years,  for  she  is  free,  and  she  still  has 


TRUTH  441 

a  husband  who  adores  her.     .     .     .     You  hear  me,  you 
hear  me,  do  you  not,  my  daughter  ? ' 

With  a  gesture  of  tender  entreaty,  she  held  out  her  poor 
waxen  hands,  and  Genevieve  fell  upon  her  knees  beside 
her,  with  big  tears  rolling  down  her  cheeks,  so  deeply  was 
she  stirred  by  that  extraordinary  scene,  that  poignant 
awakening  of  love  at  the  very  hour  of  death. 

'  Mother,  I  beg  you,  mother,'  she  said,  '  do  not  continue 
to  grieve  about  my  sufferings.  You  rend  my  heart  by 
thinking  only  of  me  when  we  are  all  here,  with  the  one  de- 
sire to  give  you  a  little  comfort,  whereas  you,  it  seems,  wish 
to  go  off  in  despair.' 

Increasing  excitement  had  now  gained  possession  of 
Madame  Berthereau.  Taking  Genevieve's  head  between 
her  hands,  she  gazed  into  her  eyes  and  answered,  '  No,  no, 
listen  to  me.  There  is  only  one  thing  that  can  make  me 
happy  before  I  leave  you,  and  that  is  a  certainty  that  you 
will  not  lead  a  life  of  sacrifice  and  torture  as  I  have  done. 
Give  me  that  last  consolation,  do  not  let  me  go  without  your 
promise.  ...  I  shall  repeat  what  I  have  said  as  long 
as  I  have  strength  to  do  so.  Leave  this  house  of  error  and 
death,  return  to  your  home,  your  husband.  Give  him  back 
his  children,  love  each  other  with  all  your  strength.  Life 
lies  in  that,  and  truth,  aye,  and  happiness  also.  ...  I 
beg  you,  my  girl,  promise  me,  swear  to  me  that  you  will 
comply  with  my  last  desire.' 

Then,  as  Genevieve,  utterly  upset,  choking  with  sobs, 
gave  her  no  answer,  Madame  Berthereau  turned  towards 
Louise,  who,  likewise  distracted,  was  now  kneeling  at  the 
other  side  of  the  couch.  '  Help  me,  my  dear  granddaugh- 
ter,' she  said,  'I  know  what  your  views  are.  I  have  noticed . 
your  efforts  to  lead  your  mother  home.  You  are  a  little 
fairy,  a  very  sensible  little  person,  and  you  have  done  a 
great  deal  to  give  a  little  quietness  to  all  four  of  us. 
.  .  .  Your  mother  must  make  me  a  promise,  is  it  not 
so  ?  Tell  her  that  she  will  make  me  very  joyful  indeed  by 
promising  me  to  be  happy.' 

Louise  had  caught  hold  of  the  poor  woman's  hands,  and 
kissing  them  she  stammered :  '  Oh !  grandmother,  grand- 
mother, how  good  you  are,  and  how  I  love  you!  .  .  . 
Mother  will  remember  your  last  wishes,  she  will  reflect,  and 
act  as  her  heart  bids  her,  you  may  be  sure  of  it.' 

Madame  Duparque  meanwhile  had  not  for  a  moment 
departed  from  her  rigidity.  Her  eyes  alone  seemed  to  be 


442  TRUTH 

alive  in  her  frigid,  wrinkled  face.  And  furious  anger  blazed 
in  them  while  she  strove  to  restrain  herself  from  any  brutal 
action.  At  last  she  growled  huskily:  'Be  quiet,  all  three 
of  you!  You  are  unhappy  infidels,  rebelling  against  God, 
who  will  punish  you  with  the  flames  of  hell.  ...  Be 
quiet,  I  tell  you,  don't  let  me  hear  another  word!  Am  I  no 
longer  mistress  here  ?  You,  my  daughter,  your  illness  has 
impaired  your  mind,  I  am  willing  to  grant  it.  You,  my 
granddaughter,  have  Satan  in  you,  and  I  excuse  you  for 
having  failed  as  yet  to  drive  him  out,  in  spite  of  your  peni- 
tence. And  you,  my  great-granddaughter,  I  still  hope  that 
when  I  am  free  to  correct  you  I  shall  prevent  you  from 
going  to  damnation.  ...  Be  quiet,  my  children,  I  tell 
you.  If  it  were  not  for  me  you  would  not  exist !  It  is  I 
who  command  here,  and  you  would  be  guilty  of  yet  another 
mortal  sin  if  you  should  not  obey  me!  ' 

Her  stature  seemed  to  have  increased,  and  her  voice  had 
risen  while,  with  fierce  gestures,  she  thus  spoke  in  the  name 
of  her  Deity  of  anger  and  vengeance.  But,  in  spite  of  her 
commands,  her  daughter,  who  already  felt  freed  from  her 
domination  by  the  approach  of  death,  was  bold  enough  to 
continue :  '  I  have  been  obeying  for  more  than  twenty  years, 
mother,  I  have  preserved  silence  for  more  than  twenty 
years;  and  if  my  last  hour  were  not  at  hand,  perhaps  I 
should  be  so  cowardly  as  to  obey  and  keep  silent  now. 

.  .  But  I  have  gone  through  too  much.  All  that  has 
tortured  me,  all  that  I  have  left  unsaid  would  choke  me  in 
my  grave,  and  even  there  the  cry  I  have  stifled  so  long 
would  rise  from  my  lips.  .  .  .  Oh!  my  daughter, 
promise  me,  promise  me  what  I  ask!  ' 

Then  Madame  Duparque,  beside  herself,  exclaimed  in  a 
rougher  voice:  '  Genevieve,  I,  your  grandmother,  forbid 
you  to  speak! ' 

It  was  Louise  who,  seeing  that  her  mother  was  still  sob- 
bing, waging  a  most  frightful  battle,  with  her  face  close 
pressed  to  the  blanket  spread  over  the  couch,  took  upon 
herself  to  answer  in  her  resolute  yet  deferential  way: 
'  Grandmother,  one  must  be  kind  to  grandmother  who  is 
so  ill.  Mother  also  is  very  ailing,  and  it  is  cruel  to  upset 
her  like  this.  Is  it  not  right  that  each  should  act  according 
to  her  conscience  ? ' 

Thereupon,  without  giving  Madame  Duparque  time  to  in- 
tervene again,  Genevieve,  whose  heart  melted,  touched  as 
it  was  by  her  daughter's  courageous  gentleness,  raised  her 


TRUTH  443 

head,  and  kissed  the  dying  woman  with  intense  emotion: 
'  Mother,  mother,  you  may  sleep  in  peace,  I  will  not  let  you 
carry  away  any  bitter  thought  on  my  account. 
Yes,  I  promise  you  I  will  remember  your  desire,  I  promise 
you  I  will  do  all  that  my  love  for  you  may  advise  me  to  do. 
.  .  .  Yes,  yes,  there  is  only  kindness,  there  is  only  love: 
therein  lies  the  only  truth.' 

Then,  as  Madame  Berthereau,  exhausted,  but  with  a 
divine  smile  brightening  her  face,  pressed  her  daughter  to 
her  bosom,  Madame  Duparque  made  a  last  threatening 
gesture.  The  twilight  had  now  fallen,  and  only  the  pale 
gleam  of  the  broad,  cloudless  sky,  where  the  first  stars  were 
shining,  lighted  up  the  room;  while  the  open  window  ad- 
mitted the  deep  silence  that  rose  from  the  deserted  square, 
broken  only  by  the  laugh  of  a  child.  And  as  everything 
thus  sank  into  a  quiescence  through  which  swept  the  august 
breath  of  coming  death,  the  old  woman,  who  in  her  obstin- 
acy would  neither  see  nor  hear,  added  these  words:  '  You 
belong  to  me  no  more,  neither  daughter,  nor  granddaugh- 
ter, nor  great-granddaughter.  One  impelling  the  other, 
you  are,  all  three  of  you,  on  the  road  to  eternal  damnation! 
Go,  go!  God  casts  you  off,  and  I  cast  you  off  also!  ' 

Then  she  departed,  shutting  the  door  roughly  behind  her. 
In  the  dim  quiet  room  the  mother  remained  agonising  be- 
tween her  daughter  and  her  granddaughter,  all  three  united 
in  the  same  embrace.  And  for  a  long,  long  while  they  con- 
tinued weeping,  their  tears  full  of  delightful  comfort  as  well 
as  bitter  grief. 

Two  days  later  Madame  Berthereau  died,  in  a  very 
Catholic  spirit,  after  receiving  extreme  unction,  as  she  had 
desired.  At  the  church  the  stern  demeanour  of  Madame 
Duparque,  clad  in  the  deepest  mourning,  was  much  re- 
marked. Only  Louise  accompanied  her.  Genevieve  had 
been  obliged  to  take  to  her  bed  again,  overcome  by  such  a 
nervous  shock  that  she  seemed  no  longer  able  to  see  or  hear. 
For  three  days  longer  she  thus  remained  in  bed  with  her 
face  turned  to  the  wall,  unwilling  to  answer  anybody,  even 
her  daughter.  She  must  have  suffered  terribly;  distressful 
moans  escaped  her,  fits  of  weeping  shook  her  from  head  to 
foot.  When  the  grandmother  went  up  to  her,  obstinately 
remaining  there,  lecturing  her,  and  pointing  out  the  neces- 
sity of  appeasing  the  divine  anger,  the  attacks  became  yet 
more  violent,  there  were  convulsions  and  shrieks.  And 
Louise,  who  wished  her  mother  to  be  spared  any  such 


444  TRUTH 

aggravation  of  her  torment,  in  the  supreme  struggle  which 
was  almost  rending  her  asunder,  ended  by  bolting  the  door, 
and  remaining  there  as  a  sentinel,  forbidding  access  to 
everybody. 

On  the  fourth  day  came  the  denouement.  Pelagic  alone 
managed  to  force  an  occasional  entry  in  order  to  attend  to 
certain  work.  Sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  sullen  face,  a  large 
nose,  and  thin  lips,  the  servant  had  become  not  only  very 
thin,  almost  withered,  but  also  insufferable  in  manner. 
Ever  mumbling  sour  words,  she  actually  overruled  her  ter- 
rible mistress,  and  often  turned  the  workgirls,  whom  the 
latter  engaged  to  help  her,  into  the  street.  Madame  Du- 
parque  kept  her,  however,  for  she  was  an  old  retainer,  an 
old  instrument  who  had  always  been  ready  at  hand.  In- 
deed, her  mistress  could  hardly  have  lived  if  she  had  not 
had  that  underling,  that  serf  beside  her  to  extend,  as  it  were, 
her  domination  over  all  around.  She  employed  her  as  a 
spy,  as  the  executor  of  base  designs,  and  in  return  she  her- 
self belonged  to  her,  having  to  put  up  with  all  the  bad 
temper,  all  the  additional  worry  and  dolefulness  with  which 
the  other  filled  the  house. 

On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day,  after  the  first  break- 
fast, Pelagic,  having  gone  upstairs  to  fetch  the  cups  and 
plates,  hastened  down  again,  quite  scared,  and  said  to  her 
mistress :  '  Does  madame  know  what  is  going  on  up  there  ? 
They  are  packing  their  trunks! ' 

'  The  mother  and  daughter  ? ' 

'  Yes,  madame.  Oh !  they  are  making  no  secret  of  it. 
The  girl  goes  from  one  room  to  the  other,  carrying  armfuls 
of  linen.  ...  If  madame  cares  to  go  up,  the  door  is 
wide  open.' 

Frigidly,  without  answering,  Madame  Duparque  went  up. 
And  she  indeed  found  Genevieve  and  Louise  actively  en- 
gaged in  packing  two  trunks,  as  if  for  immediate  departure, 
while  little  Clement,  who  was  scarcely  six  years  old,  sat 
very  quietly  on  a  chair,  watching  the  preparations.  The 
mother  and  daughter  just  raised  their  heads  when  the  old 
lady  entered,  then  went  on  with  their  work  again. 

A  moment  of  silence  followed;  finally,  Madame  Du- 
parque, not  a  muscle  of  whose  face  stirred,  but  who  seemed 
to  become  yet  more  frigid  and  stern,  inquired :  '  Do  you  feel 
better,  then,  Genevieve  ? ' 

4  Yes,  grandmother.  I  have  still  some  fever,  but  I  shall 
never  get  well  if  I  remain  shut  up  here,' 


TRUTH  445 

'  So  you  have  decided  to  go  elsewhere,  I  see.  Where  are 
you  going  ? ' 

A  quiver  came  over  Genevieve,  who  once  more  raised  her 
head,  showing  her  eyes,  which  were  still  red  with  weeping: 
4 1  am  going  where  I  promised  my  mother  I  would  go.  For 
four  days  past  the  struggle  has  been  killing  me. ' 

Another  pause  ensued.  '  Your  promise  did  not  seem  to 
me  a  formal  one;  I  regarded  your  words  as  mere  words  of 
consolation,'  said  Madame  Duparque  at  last.  '  So  you  are 
going  back  to  that  man  ?  You  can  have  very  little  pride ! ' 

'  Pride!  Ah,  yes,  I  know,  it  is  by  pride  that  you  have 
kept  me  here  so  long.  .  .  .  But  I  have  had  plenty  of 
pride.  Many  a  time,  though  I  have  wept  all  night  long,  I 
have  refused  to  admit  my  error.  .  .  .  But  now  I  under- 
stand the  stupidity  of  my  pride,  the  wretchedness  into  which 
I  have  sunk  is  too  great. ' 

'You  unhappy  creature!  Has  neither  prayer  nor  peni- 
tence been  able  to  rid  you  of  the  poison,  then  ?  That  poison 
is  mastering  you  again,  and  it  will  end  by  casting  you  into 
eternal  punishment  should  you  relapse  into  your  abominable 
sin.' 

'What  poison  are  you  talking  of,  grandmother  ?  My  hus- 
band loves  me,  and,  in  spite  of  everything,  I  love  him  still. 
Is  that  poison  ?  I  have  struggled  for  five  years;  I  wished 
to  give  myself  entirely  to  God;  why  did  not  God  fill  the 
aching  void  of  my  being,  in  which  I  desired  to  receive  Him 
alone  ?  Religion  has  satisfied  me  neither  as  to  wifely 
happiness  nor  as  to  motherly  tenderness,  and  if  I  am  now 
going  back  to  that  happiness  and  tenderness,  it  is  because 
of  the  downfall  of  that  heaven  in  which  I  have  found  only 
deception  and  falsehood.' 

'  You  are  blaspheming,  my  girl,  and  you  will  be  punished 
for  it  by  the  most  cruel  sufferings.  ...  If  the  poison 
which  has  tortured  you  did  not  come  from  Satan,  it  follows 
that  it  must  have  come  from  God.  Faith  is  forsaking  you; 
you  are  on  the  high  road  to  negation,  to  absolute  perdition.' 

'  That  is  true;  for  months  now  I  have  believed  a  little  less 
each  day.  I  did  not  dare  to  confess  it  to  myself,  but  amid 
all  my  bitterness  of  feeling  something  was  slowly  destroying 
the  beliefs  of  my  childhood  and  youth.  .  .  .  How 
strange  it  was!  All  my  childhood  full  of  chimeras,  all  my 
pious  youth  had  revived  within  me,  with  all  the  fine  mys- 
teries and  ceremonies  of  worship,  when  I  first  sought  refuge 
here.  But  when  I  again  endeavoured  to  plunge  into  the 


446  TRUTH 

au  delb  of  the  mysteries,  when  I  strove  to  give  myself  to 
Jesus  amid  the  chants  and  the  flowers,  those  dreams  gradu- 
ally faded,  became  mere  deceptive  fancies,  in  which  nought 
of  my  being  found  contentment.  .  .  .  Yes,  the  poison 
must  have  been  my  training,  the  errors  in  which  I  grew  up, 
which  brought  me  so  much  suffering  when  they  revived, 
and  of  which  I  shall  only  be  cured  when  the  evil  ferment 
is  completely  eliminated.  .  .  .  Shall  I  ever  be  cured  ? 
I  hardly  know.  There  is  still  such  strife  within  me!  ' 

Madame  Duparque  was  restraining  herself,  for  she  well 
understood  that  violence  on  her  part  would  seal  her  rupture 
with  the  young  woman  and  the  girl,  who,  with  the  little  boy, 
seated  on  his  chair,  listening  attentively  without  understand- 
ing, were  all  that  remained  of  her  race.  Thus  she  was 
minded  to  make  a  last  effort,  and  addressing  herself  to 
Louise,  she  said:  '  You,  my  poor  child,  are  the  most  to  be 
pitied,  and  I  shudder  when  I  think  of  the  pit  of  abomina- 
tion into  which  you  are  casting  yourself.  ...  If  you 
had  made  your  first  Communion  all  these  sorrows  would 
have  been  spared  us.  God  is  punishing  us  for  having 
failed  to  overcome  your  impious  resistance.  Yet  there  is 
still  time,  and  what  favours  would  you  not  obtain  from  His 
infinite  mercy  if  you  would  only  submit,  and  approach  the 
Holy  Table  as  a  humble  handmaiden  of  Jesus! ' 

But  the  girl  responded  gently :  '  Why  revert  to  that, 
grandmother  ?  You  know  very  well  what  promise  I  gave 
my  father.  I  cannot  vary  in  my  answer;  I  will  come  to  a 
decision  when  I  am  twenty;  I  shall  then  see  if  I  have  faith.' 

'  But,  you  unhappy,  obstinate  child,  if  you  go  back  to  that 
man,  who  has  wrecked  both  your  mother's  life  and  your 
own,  your  decision  can  be  told  in  advance!  You  will  re- 
main without  any  belief,  any  religion  at  all,  like  a  mere 
beast  of  the  fields!  ' 

Then,  as  the  daughter  and  mother  deferentially  preserved 
silence,  and  even  resumed  their  packing  in  order  to  curtail 
a  useless  and  painful  discussion,  the  old  lady  gave  expres- 
sion to  a  last  desire :  '  Well,  if  you  have  both  resolved  to  go, 
at  least  leave  me  the  little  boy — leave  me  Clement.  He  will 
redeem  your  folly,  I  will  bring  him  up  in  the  love  of  God, 
I  will  make  a  holy  priest  of  him,  and  at  least  I  shall  not  be 
alone;  there  will  be  two  of  us  to  pray  that  the  divine  anger 
may  not  fall  upon  you  on  the  terrible  Day  of  Judgment. ' 

But  Genevieve  had  sprung  to  her  feet.  'Leave  Clement! ' 
she  exclaimed ;  '  why,  it  is  largely  on  his  account  that  I  am 


TRUTH  447 

going.  I  no  longer  know  how  to  bring  him  up ;  I  wish  to 
restore  him  to  his  father,  in  order  that  we  may  come  to  an 
understanding  and  endeavour  to  make  a  man  of  him.  .  .  . 
No,  no,  I  am  taking  him  with  me!  ' 

Then  Louise,  who  also  stepped  forward,  added  very 
gently  and  respectfully :  '  Why  do  you  say  that  you  will  re- 
main alone,  grandmother  ?  We  do  not  wish  to  forsake  you, 
we  will  often  come  to  see  you,  every  day  if  you  will  allow 
us.  And  we  will  love  you  well,  and  try  to  show  you  how 
much  we  desire  to  make  you  happy.' 

Madame  Duparque  could  restrain  herself  no  longer.  The 
flood  of  anger  which  she  had  found  it  so  difficult  to  check 
flowed  over  and  carried  her  away  with  a  rush  of  furious 
words:  '  That  's  enough!  Keep  quiet!  I  will  listen  to  you 
no  longer!  But  you  are  quite  right,  pack  your  boxes  and 
be  off!  Be  off,  all  three  of  you,  I  cast  you  out!  Go  and 
join  that  cursed  man,  that  bandit  who  spat  on  God  and  His 
ministers  to  endeavour  to  save  that  filthy  Jew,  who  has  been 
twice  condemned!  ' 

'  Simon  is  innocent! '  cried  Genevieve,  in  her  turn  losing 
all  restraint;  '  and  those  who  caused  him  to  be  condemned 
are  liars  and  forgers! ' 

'  Yes,  yes,  I  know ;  it  is  that  affair  which  has  ruined  you 
and  is  separating  us.  You  imagine  the  Jew  to  be  innocent; 
you  can  no  longer  believe  in  God.  But  your  imbecile 
justice  is  the  negation  of  divine  authority.  And  for  that 
reason  all  is  quite  over  between  us.  ...  Go,  go  as 
quickly  as  possible  with  your  children!  Don't  soil  this 
house  any  longer,  don't  bring  any  more  thunderbolts  upon 
it!  You  are  the  sole  cause  of  its  misfortunes. 
And,  mind,  don't  set  foot  here  again;  I  cast  you  off,  I  cast 
you  off  for  ever!  When  once  you  have  crossed  the  thres- 
hold you  need  never  knock  at  the  door,  it  will  not  be  opened 
to  you.  I  have  no  children  left,  I  am  alone  in  the  world, 
and  I  will  live  and  die  alone!  ' 

As  she  spoke,  the  old  woman,  nearly  in  her  eightieth 
year,  drew  up  her  lofty  figure  with  a  fierce  energy.  Her 
voice  was  still  strong,  her  gestures  were  commanding  ones. 
She  cursed,  she  punished,  she  exterminated  after  the  fashion 
of  her  Deity  of  wrath  and  death.  And  afterwards  she  de- 
scended the  stairs  with  a  pitiless  tread,  and  shut  herself  in 
her  room,  waiting  there  till  the  last  children  of  her  flesh 
should  be  gone  for  ever. 

It  so  happened  that  Marc,  that  very  same  day,  received 


448  TRUTH 

a  visit  from  Salvan,  who  found  him  in  the  large  classroom, 
which  was  quite  bright  with  the  glow  of  the  September 
sunshine.  The  vacation  would  come  to  an  end  in  another 
ten  days,  and,  though  Marc  hourly  expected  to  be  informed 
of  his  dismissal,  he  was  consulting  his  books  and  notes  as  if 
preparing  for  the  new  school  year.  However,  by  Salvan 's 
grave  if  smiling  demeanour,  he  at  once  understood  the  truth. 

'  This  time  it  's  done,  is  it  not  ? '  he  exclaimed. 

'Man  Dieu,  yes,  it  's  done,  my  friend.  Quite  a  long  list 
of  changes,  appointments,  and  promotions,  prepared  by  Le 
Barazer,  has  been  signed.  .  .  .  Jauffre  will  leave  Jon- 
ville  and  come  to  Beaumont,  which  is  fine  advancement  for 
him.  That  clerical  Chagnat  goes  from  Le  Moreux  to  Dher- 
becourt,  which  is  scandalous  when  one  remembers  what  a 
brute  the  fellow  is.  ...  For  my  part,  I  am  simply 
pensioned  off  to  make  room  for  Mauraisin,  who  triumphs. 
.  .  .  And  you,  my  friend ' 

'  I  am  dismissed,  eh  ?  ' 

'  No,  no,  you  have  simply  fallen  into  disgrace.  You  are 
sent  back  to  Jonville  in  the  place  of  Jauffre,  and  Mignot, 
your  assistant,  who  is  compromised  with  you,  is  to  take 
Chagnat's  post  at  Le  Moreux.' 

Marc  raised  a  cry  of  happy  surprise :   '  But  I  am  delighted ! ' 

Salvan,  who  had  come  expressly  to  acquaint  him  with  the 
news,  indulged  in  a  hearty  laugh.  '  That  is  Le  Barazer's 
diplomacy,  you  see !  That  is  what  he  was  preparing,  when, 
according  to  his  habit,  he  endeavoured  to  gain  time.  He 
has  ended  by  satisfying  that  terrible  Sangleboeuf  and  all  the 
other  reactionaries  by  appointing  Mauraisin  to  succeed  me, 
and  promoting  Jauffre  and  Chagnat.  And  this  has  enabled 
him  to  retain  your  services  and  those  of  Mignot.  Out- 
wardly he  seems  to  blame  you,  but  he  does  not  intend  to 
disown  you  entirely.  Besides,  he  is  leaving  Mademoiselle 
Mazeline  here,  and  in  your  place  is  appointing  Joulic, 
one  of  my  best  pupils,  a  man  of  free  and  healthy  mind. 
Thus  Maillebois,  Jonville,  and  Le  Moreux  will  be  hence- 
forth provided  with  excellent  masters,  ardent  missionaries 
of  the  future.  .  .  .  That  is  the  position,  and,  I  tell  you 
once  again,  nobody  can  alter  Le  Barazer;  one  must  take 
him  as  he  is  and  feel  pleased,  even  when  what  he  does  is 
only  half  of  what  one  would  like  to  see.' 

'  I  am  delighted,'  Marc  repeated.  'It  was  more  particu- 
larly the  prospect  of  having  to  quit  the  profession  altogether 
that  grieved  me.  Thinking  of  the  new  term  I  felt  sorrowful 


TRUTH  449 

all  this  morning.  Where  could  I  have  gone,  what  could  I 
have  done  ?  It  will  certainly  pain  me  to  leave  the  boys 
here,  for  I  am  very  fond  of  them.  But  my  consolation  will 
be  to  find  others  yonder,  to  whom  I  shall  also  become  at- 
tached. And  as  for  the  humbleness  of  the  school,  what 
does  that  matter  if  I  am  able  to  continue  my  life-work  and 
still  sow  the  seed  which  alone  can  yield  the  harvest  of  truth 
and  equity  ?  Ah !  yes,  I  shall  go  back  to  Jonville  right 
willingly,  and  with  fresh  hope. ' 

Then  he  strode  gaily  about  the  bright,  sunshiny  classroom 
as  if  again  taking  on  himself  that  teaching  mission,  the  re- 
linquishment  of  which  would  have  been  so  hard  to  bear. 
And  at  last,  with  juvenile  ardour  and  delight,  he  flung  his 
arms  about  Salvan  and  embraced  him.  At  that  same  mo- 
ment Mignot,  who,  also  expecting  dismissal,  had  been  seek- 
ing a  situation  for  some  days  past,  came  in,  worried  at 
having  encountered  another  refusal  on  the  part  of  the  man- 
ager of  a  neighbouring  factory.  But  when  he  learnt  that  he 
was  appointed  to  Le  Moreux,  he  likewise  gave  expression  to 
his  joy.  '  Le  Moreux!  Le  Moreux!  a  real  land  of  savages! ' 
said  he.  '  No  matter,  one  will  try  to  civilise  them  a  little. 
And  we  sha'n't  be  separated,  the  distance  is  less  than  three 
miles.  That,  you  know,  is  what  pleases  me  most  of  all!  ' 

But  Marc  had  now  calmed  down,  and,  indeed,  sorrow 
was  reviving  in  him,  dimming  his  eyes  once  more.  Silence 
fell,  and  the  others  could  feel  a  quiver  pass — the  quiver  of 
hope  deferred,  of  a  heart-pang  which  was  ever  keen.  How 
hard  would  be  the  battle  that  Marc  still  had  before  him, 
how  many  more  tears  must  he  shed  before  he  regained  his 
lost  happiness!  At  that  thought  he,  and  the  others  also, 
preserved  silence;  and  Salvan,  unable  to  give  his  friends 
any  further  comfort,  sank  into  a  sorrowful  reverie  as  he 
stood  gazing  through  the  large  sunlit  window  which  faced 
the  square  outside. 

But  all  at  once  he  exclaimed:  'Why,  are  you  expecting 
somebody  ? ' 

'  Expecting  somebody  ? '  rejoined  Marc,  at  a  loss  to 
understand. 

'Yes,  here  comes  a  little  hand-cart  with  some  trunks  on  it.' 

At  that  same  moment  the  door  opened,  and  they  turned 
round.  It  was  Genevieve  who  came  in,  holding  little 
Clement  by  the  hand,  and  having  Louise  also  beside  her. 
The  surprise  and  the  emotion  were  so  great  that  at  first 
nobody  spoke.  Marc  was  trembling.  But  Genevieve,  in  a 

•9 


450  TRUTH 

halting  voice,  began  at  last:  '  My  dear  Marc,  I  have 
brought  you  back  your  son.  Yes,  I  give  him  back  to  you 
— he  belongs  to  you — he  belongs  to  us  both.  Let  us  try  to 
make  a  man  of  him. ' 

The  boy  had  stretched  out  his  little  arms,  and  the  father 
caught  him  up  wildly,  and  pressed  him  to  his  heart,  while 
the  mother,  the  wife,  continued:  'And  I  have  come  back 
to  you  with  him,  my  good  Marc.  You  told  me  that  I 
should  bring  him  back,  and  come  back  myself.  ...  It 
was  truth  that  first  conquered  me;  then  all  that  you  had  set 
in  me  germinated,  no  doubt,  and  I  have  no  pride  left. 
.  And  here  I  am,  for  I  still  love  you.  ...  I 
vainly  sought  other  happiness,  but  only  your  love  exists. 
Apart  from  us  and  our  children  there  is  only  unreason  and 
wretchedness.  .  .  .  Take  me  back,  my  good  Marc! 
I  give  myself  to  you  as  you  give  yourself  to  me.' 

Thus  speaking,  she  had  slowly  drawn  near  to  her  husband, 
and  she  was  about  to  cast  her  arms  around  his  neck  when 
Louise's  gay  voice  was  heard:  'And  I,  and  I,  father!  I 
must  share  in  it  too,  you  know.  You  must  not  forget  me.' 

'Yes,  indeed,  she  must  share  in  it,  the  dear  girl! '  said 
Genevieve.  '  She  strove  so  much  to  bring  about  this  happi- 
ness, she  showed  such  gentleness  and  skill.' 

Then  she  caught  Louise  also  in  her  embrace,  and  kissed 
both  her  and  Marc,  who  was  already  holding  Clement  to 
his  heart.  All  four  were  at  last  re-united,  held  in  the  same 
bond  of  flesh  and  love,  having  but  one  heart,  one  breath 
between  them.  And  what  a  quiver  of  deep  humanity,  of 
fruitful  and  healthy  joy  now  filled  that  large  classroom, 
which  looked  so  bare  and  empty,  pending  the  return  of  the 
boys  for  the  new  term!  Big  tears  welled  into  the  eyes  of 
Salvan  and  Mignot,  whom  emotion  quite  upset. 

At  last  Marc  was  able  to  speak,  and  his  whole  heart  rose 
to  his  lips:  'Ah!  my  dear  wife,  as  you  return  to  me  you 
must  at  last  be  cured.  I  knew  it  would  be  so.  You  turned 
to  more  and  more  rigid  religious  practices  as  to  stronger 
and  stronger  stupefacients  for  the  purpose  of  sending  your 
nature  to  sleep;  but,  in  spite  of  everything,  nature  was 
bound  to  eliminate  the  poison  when  at  last  you  again  felt 
that  you  were  a  wife  and  a  mother.  .  .  .  Yes,  yes,  you 
are  right:  love  has  delivered  you;  you  are  won  from  that 
religion  of  error  and  death,  from  which  human  society  has 
suffered  for  eighteen  centuries  past.' 

But  Genevieve  quivered  again,  becoming  anxious  and  dis- 


TRUTH  451 

turbed.  'Ah!  no,  no,  my  good  Marc,  do  not  say  that! 
Who  can  tell  if  I  am  really  cured  ?  Never,  perhaps,  shall 
I  be  cured  completely.  .  .  .  Our  Louise  will  be  entirely 
free,  but  the  mark  set  on  me  is  ineffaceable,  I  shall  always 
be  afraid  of  relapsing  into  those  mystical  dreams.  .  . 
And  if  I  have  come  back,  it  is  to  seek  a  refuge  in  your  em- 
brace, and  to  enable  you  to  complete  the  work  that  has 
begun.  Keep  me,  perfect  me,  try  to  prevent  anything  from 
ever  separating  us  again!' 

They  caught  each  other  in  a  tighter  clasp:  it  was  as  if  they 
were  but  one.  Even  as  Genevieve  had  said,  was  not  that 
the  great  work  which  needed  to  be  accomplished — the  work 
of  taking  woman  from  the  Church,  and  setting  her  in  her 
true  place  as  companion  and  mother,  by  the  side  of  man? 
For  only  the  freed  woman  can  free  man :  her  slavery  is  ours. 

But  all  at  once  Louise,  who  a  moment  previously  had 
disappeared,  opened  the  door  again,  bringing  with  her 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  who  entered  breathless  and  smil- 
ing. '  Mamma, '  said  the  girl,  '  mademoiselle  must  have  a 
share  in  our  happiness.  If  you  only  knew  how  she  has 
loved  me,  and  how  kind  and  useful  she  was  here! ' 

Genevieve  stepped  forward  and  embraced  the  schoolmis- 
tress affectionately.  '  I  knew  it, '  she  said.  '  Thank  you, 
my  friend,  for  all  you  did  for  us  during  our  long  worries. ' 

The  good  woman  laughed,  with  tears  in  her  eyes.  '  Oh! 
don't  thank  me,  my  dear.  It  is  I  who  am  grateful  to  you 
for  all  the  happiness  you  give  me  to-day. ' 

Salvan  and  Mignot  were  also  laughing  now.  More  hand- 
shakes were  exchanged.  And  as  Salvan,  amid  the  babel  of 
voices  which  burst  forth,  informed  the  schoolmistress  of  the 
appointments  signed  the  previous  day,  Genevieve  raised  a 
cry  of  joy. 

'  What!  we  are  going  back  to  Jonville  ?  Is  it  really  true  ? 
.  Ah!  Jonville,  that  charming,  lonely  village  where  we 
loved  each  other  so  well,  where  we  first  lived  together  so  hap- 
pily! What  a  good  omen  it  is  that  we  are  going  back  there, 
to  begin  our  life  afresh  in  affection  and  quietude!  Maillebois 
made  me  feel  nervous,  but  Jonville  is  hope  and  certainty.  ' 

Renewed  courage  and  infinite  confidence  in  the  future 
were  now  upbuoying  Marc,  filling  him  with  superb  enthus- 
iasm. 'Love  has  returned  to  us,'  said  he;  '  henceforth  we 
are  all-powerful.  And  even  though  falsehood,  iniquity,  and 
crime  triumphed  to-day,  eternal  victory  will  to-morrow  be 
ours.' 


BOOK  IV 


WHEN  October  arrived,  Marc  with  joyous  serenity 
repaired  to  Jonville,  to  take  the  modest  post  of 
village  schoolmaster  which  he  had  formerly  occu- 
pied there.     Great  quietude  had  now  fallen  on  him,  new 
courage  and  hope  had  followed  the  despair  and  weariness 
by  which  he  had  been  prostrated  after  the  monstrous  trial 
of  Rozan. 

The  whole  of  one's  ideal  is  never  realised,  and  Marc 
almost  reproached  himself  for  having  relied  on  a  splendid 
triumph.  Human  affairs  do  not  progress  by  superb  leaps 
and  bounds,  glorious  coups-de-thtdtre.  It  was  chimerical  to 
imagine  that  justice  would  be  acclaimed  by  millions  of  lips, 
that  the  innocent  prisoner  would  return  amid  a  great 
national  festival,  transforming  the  country  into  a  nation  of 
brothers.  All  progress,  the  very  slightest,  the  most  legiti- 
mate, has  been  won  by  centuries  of  battling.  Each  forward 
step  taken  by  mankind  has  demanded  torrents  of  blood 
and  tears,  hecatombs  of  victims,  sacrificing  themselves  for 
the  good  of  future  generations.  Thus,  in  the  eternal  battle 
with  the  evil  powers,  it  was  unreasonable  to  expect  a  decisive 
victory,  a  supreme  triumph,  such  as  would  fulfil  all  one's 
hopes,  all  one's  dream  of  fraternity  and  equity  among 
mankind. 

Besides,  Marc  had  ended  by  perceiving  what  a  consider- 
able step  had  been  taken,  after  all,  along  that  road  of  pro- 
gress, which  is  so  rough  and  deadly.  While  one  is  still  in 
the  thick  of  the  fight,  exposed  to  taunts  and  wounds,  one 
does  not  always  notice  what  ground  one  gains.  One  may 
even  think  oneself  defeated  when  one  has  really  made  much 
progress  and  drawn  very  near  to  the  goal.  In  this  way,  if 
the  second  condemnation  of  Simon  had  at  first  sight  seemed 
a  frightful  defeat,  it  SOOD  became  apparent  that  the  moral 


TRUTH  453 

victory  of  his  defenders  was  a  great  one.  And  there  were 
all  sorts  of  gains,  a  grouping  of  free  minds  and  generous 
hearts,  a  broadening  of  human  solidarity  from  one  to  the 
other  end  of  the  world,  a  sowing  of  truth  and  justice,  which 
would  end  by  sprouting  up,  even  if  the  good  grain  should 
require  many  long  winters  to  germinate  in  the  furrows. 
And,  again,  it  was  only  with  the  greatest  difficulty  that  the 
reactionary  castes,  by  dint  of  falsehoods  and  crimes,  had 
for  a  time  saved  the  rotten  fabric  of  the  past  from  utter 
collapse.  It  was  none  the  less  cracking  on  all  sides;  the 
blow  dealt  to  it  had  rent  it  from  top  to  bottom,  and  the 
blows  of  the  future  would  complete  its  destruction  and  cast 
it  down  in  a  litter  of  wretched  remnants. 

Thus  the  only  regret  which  Marc  now  experienced  was 
that  he  had  not  been  able  to  utilise  that  prodigious  Simon 
affair  as  an  admirable  lesson  of  things  which  would  have 
instructed  the  masses,  enlightened  them  like  a  blaze  of  light- 
ning. Never  again,  perhaps,  would  there  be  so  complete 
and  decisive  a  case.  There  was  the  complicity  of  all  the 
powerful  and  all  the  oppressors  banding  themselves  together 
to  crush  a  poor  innocent  man,  whose  innocence  imperilled 
the  compact  of  human  exploitation  which  the  great  ones  of 
the  world  had  signed  together.  There  were  all  the  averred 
crimes  of  the  priests,  soldiers,  magistrates,  and  ministers, 
who,  to  continue  deceiving  the  people,  had  piled  the  most 
extraordinary  infamies  one  on  another,  and  who  had  all 
been  caught  lying  and  assassinating,  with  no  resource  left 
them  but  to  sink  in  an  ocean  of  mud;  and  finally  there  had 
been  the  division  of  the  country  into  two  camps — on  one 
hand  the  old  authoritarian,  antiquated,  and  condemned 
social  order,  on  the  other  the  young  society  of  the  future, 
free  in  mind  already  and  ever  tending  towards  increase  of 
truth,  equity,  and  peace.  If  Simon's  innocence  had  been 
recognised,  the  reactionary  past  would  have  been  struck 
down  at  one  blow,  and  the  joyous  future  would  have  ap- 
peared to  the  simplest,  whose  eyes,  at  last,  would  have  been 
opened.  Never  before  would  the  revolutionary  axe  have 
sunk  so  deeply  into  the  old  worm-eaten  social  edifice. 
Irresistible  enthusiasm  would  have  carried  the  nation  to- 
wards the  future  city.  In  a  few  months  the  Simon  affair 
would  have  done  more  for  the  emancipation  of  the  masses 
and  the  reign  of  justice  than  a  hundred  years  of  ardent 
politics.  And  grief  that  things  should  have  become  so 
spoilt,  and  should  have  shattered  the  admirable  work  in 


454  TRUTH 

their  hands,  was  destined  to  abide  in  the  hearts  of  the  com- 
batants as  long  as  they  might  live. 

But  life  continued,  and  it  was  necessary  to  fight  again, 
fight  on  for  ever.  A  step  had  been  taken  forward,  and 
other  steps  remained  to  be  taken.  Duty  demanded  that, 
day  by  day,  whatever  the  bitterness  and  often  the  obscurity 
of  life,  one  should  again  give  one's  blood  and  one's  tears, 
satisfied  with  gaining  ground  inch  by  inch,  without  even  the 
reward  of  ever  beholding  the  victory.  Marc  accepted  that 
sacrifice,  no  longer  hoping  to  see  Simon's  innocence  recog- 
nised legally,  definitively,  and  triumphantly  by  the  whole 
people.  He  felt  it  was  impossible  to  revive  the  affair  amid 
the  passions  of  the  moment,  for  the  innocent  man's  enemies 
would  begin  their  atrocious  campaign  again,  helped  on  by 
the  cowardice  of  the  multitude.  It  would  be  necessary, 
no  doubt,  to  wait  for  the  death  of  the  personages  involved 
in  the  case,  for  some  transformation  of  parties,  some  new 
phase  of  politics,  before  the  Government  would  be  bold 
enough  to  apply  once  more  to  the  Court  of  Cassation  and 
ask  it  to  efface  that  abominable  page  from  the  history  of 
France.  Such  seemed  to  be  the  conviction  of  even  David 
and  Simon,  who,  while  leading  a  sequestered  life,  busy  with 
their  Pyrenean  enterprise,  watched  for  favourable  incidents 
and  circumstances,  but  felt  that  the  situation  tied  their 
hands,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  remain  waiting,  unless 
indeed  they  wished  to  stir  up  another  useless  and  dangerous 
onslaught. 

Marc,  being  thus  compelled  to  live  in  patience,  reverted 
to  his  mission,  to  the  one  work  on  which  he  set  his  hopes — 
the  instruction  of  the  humble,  the  dissemination  of  truth 
by  knowledge  which  alone  could  render  a  nation  capable  of 
equity.  Great  serenity  had  come  to  him,  and  he  accepted 
the  fact  that  generations  of  pupils  would  be  necessary  to 
rouse  France  from  her  numbness,  deliver  her  from  the 
poisons  with  which  she  had  been  gorged,  and  fill  her  with 
new  blood  which  would  transform  her  into  the  France  of 
his  old  dreams — a  generous,  freedom-giving,  and  justice- 
dealing  nation. 

Never  had  Marc  loved  truth  so  passionately  as  he  did 
now.  In  former  times  he  had  needed  it,  even  as  one  needs 
the  air  one  breathes;  he  had  felt  unable  to  live  without  it, 
sinking  into  intolerable  anguish  whenever  it  escaped  him. 
At  present,  after  seeing  it  attacked  so  furiously,  denied, 
and  hidden  away  in  the  depths  of  lies,  like  a  corpse  which 


TRUTH  455 

would  never  revive,  he  believed  in  it  still  more;  he  felt  that 
it  was  irresistible,  possessed  of  sufficient  power  to  blow  up 
the  world  should  men  again  try  to  bury  it  underground.  It 
followed  its  road  without  ever  taking  an  hour's  rest;  it 
marched  on  to  its  goal  of  light,  and  nothing  would  ever  stop 
it.  Marc  shrugged  his  shoulders  with  ironical  contempt 
when  he  beheld  guilty  men  imagining  that  they  had  anni- 
hilated truth,  that  it  lay  beneath  their  feet  as  if  it  had  ceased 
to  exist.  When  the  right  moment  came,  truth  would  ex- 
plode, scatter  them  like  dust,  and  shine  forth  serenely  and 
radiantly.  And  it  was  the  certainty  that  truth,  ever  vic- 
torious, even  after  the  lapse  of  ages,  was  upon  his  side,,  that 
lent  Marc  all  necessary  strength  and  composure  to  return 
to  his  work,  and  wait  cheerfully  for  truth's  triumph,  even 
though  it  might  only  come  after  his  own  lifetime. 

Moreover,  the  Simon  case  had  imparted  solidity  to  his 
convictions,  breadth  to  his  faith.  He  had  previously  passed 
condemnation  on  the  bourgeoisie,  which  was  exhausted  by 
the  abuse  of  its  usurped  power,  which,  from  being  a  liberal 
class,  had  become  a  reactionary  one,  passing  from  free 
thought  to  the  basest  clericalism  as  it  had  felt  the  Church 
to  be  its  natural  ally  in  its  career  of  rapine  and  enjoyment. 
And  now  he  had  seen  the  French  bourgeoisie  at  work,  he  had 
seen  it  full  of  cowardice  and  falsehood,  weak  but  tyrannical, 
denying  all  justice  to  the  innocent,  ready  for  every  crime  in 
order  that  it  might  not  have  to  part  with  any  of  its  millions, 
terrified  as  it  was  by  the  gradual  awakening  of  the  masses 
who  claimed  their  due.  And  finding  that  bourgeoisie  to  be 
even  more  rotten,  more  stricken,  than  he  had  imagined,  he 
held  that  it  must  promptly  disappear  if  the  nation  did  not 
desire  to  perish  of  incurable  infection.  Henceforth  salva- 
tion was  only  to  be  found  in  the  masses,  in  that  new  force — 
that  inexhaustible  reservoir  of  men,  work,  and  energy. 
Marc  felt  that  the  masses  were  ever  rising,  like  a  new,  re- 
juvenated race,  bringing  to  social  life  more  power  for  truth, 
justice,  and  happiness.  And  this  confirmed  him  in  the 
mission  he  had  assumed,  that  seemingly  modest  mission  of 
a  village  schoolmaster,  which  was  in  reality  the  apostolate 
of  modern  times,  the  only  important  work  that  could  fashion 
the  society  of  to-morrow.  There  was  no  loftier  duty  than 
that  of  striking  down  the  errors  and  impostures  of  the 
Church  and  setting  in  their  place  truth  as  proclaimed  by 
science,  and  human  peace,  based  upon  knowledge  and  solid- 
arity. The  France  of  the  future  was  growing  up  in  the 


TRUTH 

rural  districts,  in  the  humblest,  loneliest  hamlets,  and  it  was 
there  that  one  must  work  and  conquer. 

Marc  speedily  set  to  work.  He  had  to  repair  all  the  harm 
which  Jauffre  had  caused  by  abandoning  Jonville  to  Abbe* 
Cognasse.  But  during  the  earlier  days,  while  Marc  and 
Genevieve  were  settling  down,  how  delightful  it  was  for  them 
— reconciled  as  they  were  and  renewing  the  love  of  youth- 
ful times — to  find  themselves  again  in  the  poor  little  nest 
of  long  ago !  Sixteen  years  had  passed,  yet  nothing  seemed 
to  be  changed;  the  little  school  was  just  the  same,  with  its 
tiny  lodging  and  its  strip  of  garden.  The  walls  had  merely 
been  whitewashed,  but  the  place  seemed  fairly  clean,  thanks 
to  a  good  scouring  which  Genevieve  superintended.  She  was 
never  weary  of  summoning  Marc  to  remind  him  of  one  thing 
and  another,  laughing  happily  at  all  that  recalled  the  past. 

'  Oh !  come  and  look  at  the  picture  of  Useful  Insects 
which  you  hung  up  in  the  classroom!  It  is  still  there. 
.  .  .  I  myself  put  up  those  pegs  for  the  boys'  hats. 

.  .  In  the  cupboard  yonder,  you  '11  find  the  collection 
of  solid  bodies,  which  you  cut  out  of  beech  wood. ' 

Marc  hastened  to  her  and  joined  in  her  laughter.  And 
in  his  turn  he  summoned  her  to  him:  'Come  upstairs — make 
haste !  Do  you  see  that  date  cut  with  a  knife  in  the  wall  of 
the  alcove  ?  Don't  you  remember  that  I  did  that  the  day 
Louise  was  born  ?  .  And  just  recollect,  when  we 

were  in  bed,  we  used  to  look  at  that  crack  in  the  ceiling, 
and  jest  about  it,  saying  that  the  stars  were  watching  and 
smiling  at  us.' 

Then,  as  they  went  through  the  little  garden,  they  burst 
into  exclamations:  'Why,  look  at  the  old  fig  tree!  It  has  n't 
changed  a  bit;  we  might  have  left  it  only  yesterday.  .  .  . 
Ah !  we  had  a  border  of  strawberries  in  the  place  of  that 
sorrel;  we  shall  have  to  plant  one  again.  .  .  .  The 
pump  has  been  changed — that  's  a  blessing!  Perhaps  we 
shall  be  able  to  get  water  with  this  one.  .  .  .  Why, 
there  's  our  seat,  our  seat  under  the  creeper!  We  must  sit 
down  and  kiss  each  other — all  the  young  kisses  of  long  ago 
in  a  good  kiss  of  to-day. ' 

They  felt  moved  to  tears,  and  for  an  instant  they  lingered 
embracing,  amid  that  delightful  renewal  of  their  happiness. 
Great  courage  came  to  them  from  the  sight  of  those  friendly 
surroundings,  where  they  had  never  shed  a  tear.  Every- 
thing they  saw  drew  them  more  closely  together,  and  seemed 
to  promise  them  victory. 


TRUTH  457 

With  respect  to  their  daughter  Louise,  a  separation  had 
become  necessary  at  the  very  outset.  She  had  been  obliged 
to  leave  them  for  the  Training  School  of  Fontenay,  to  which 
she  had  secured  admission.  Her  tastes  and  her  love  for 
her  father  had  made  her  desirous  of  becoming  a  mere 
schoolmistress,  even  as  he  was  a  mere  village  schoolmaster. 
And  Marc  and  Genevieve,  remaining  alone  with  little 
Clement,  saddened  by  their  daughter's  departure,  though 
they  knew  it  to  be  necessary,  drew  yet  closer  together,  in 
order  to  deaden  their  sense  of  that  sudden  void.  True, 
Clement  remained  with  them,  and  gave  them  occupation. 
He  was  now  becoming  quite  a  little  man,  and  it  was  with 
affectionate  solicitude  that  they  watched  over  the  awaken- 
ing of  his  faculties. 

Besides,  Marc  prevailed  on  Genevieve  to  undertake  the 
management  of  the  adjoining  girls'  school — that  is  after  re- 
questing Salvan  to  intervene  with  Le  Barazer  with  a  view  to 
her  appointment  to  the  post.  It  will  be  remembered  that 
immediately  after  her  convent  days  she  had  obtained  the 
necessary  certificates,  and  that  if  she  had  not  taken  charge 
of  the  girls'  school  when  her  husband  was  first  appointed  to 
Jonville,  it  had  been  because  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  had 
then  held  the  post.  But  the  advancement  now  given  to 
Jauffre  and  his  wife  had  left  both  posts  vacant,  and  it 
seemed  best  that  the  two  schools  should  be  confided  to 
Marc  and  Genevieve,  the  husband  taking  the  boys  and  the 
wife  the  girls — this  indeed  being  an  arrangement  which  the 
authorities  always  preferred. 

Marc,  for  his  part,  perceived  all  sorts  of  advantages  in  it: 
the  teaching  would  proceed  on  the  same  lines  in  both 
schools;  he  would  have  a  devoted  collaborator  who  would 
help  instead  of  trying  to  thwart  him  in  his  advance  towards 
the  future.  And,  again,  though  Genevieve  had  given  him 
no  cause  for  anxiety  since  her  return,  she  would  find  occu- 
pation for  her  mind;  she  would  be  compelled  to  recover 
and  exert  her  reason  in  acting  as  a  teacher,  a  guardian  of 
the  little  maids  who  would  be  the  wives  and  mothers  of  to- 
morrow. Besides,  would  not  their  union  be  perfected  ? 
would  they  not  be  blended  for  ever,  if,  with  all  faith  and 
all  affection,  they  should  share  the  same  blessed  work  of 
teaching  the  poor  and  lowly,  from  whom  the  felicity  of  the 
future  would  spring  ?  When  a  notification  of  the  appoint- 
ment arrived,  fresh  joy  came  to  them;  it  was  as  if  they  now 
had  but  one  heart  and  one  brain. 


TRUTH 

But  in  what  a  ruinous  and  uneasy  state  did  Marc  now 
find  that  village  of  Jonville  which  he  had  loved  so  well! 
He  remembered  his  first  struggles  with  the  terrible  Abbe" 
Cognasse,  and  how  he  had  triumphed  by  securing  the  sup- 
port of  Mayor  Martineau,  that  well-to-do,  illiterate  but 
sensible  peasant,  who  retained  all  a  peasant's  racial  anti- 
pathy for  the  priests — those  lazy  fellows,  who  lived  well  and 
did  nothing.  Between  them,  Marc  and  Martineau  had 
begun  to  secularise  the  parish ;  the  schoolmaster  no  longer 
sang  in  the  choir,  no  longer  rang  the  bell  for  Mass,  no 
longer  conducted  his  pupils  to  the  Catechism  classes;  while 
the  Mayor  and  the  parish  council  escaped  from  routine  and 
favoured  the  evolution  which  gave  the  school  precedence 
over  the  Church.  Thanks  to  the  action  Marc  brought  to 
bear  on  his  boys  and  their  parents,  and  the  influence  he 
exercised  at  the  parish  offices,  where  he  held  the  post  of 
secretary,  he  had  seen  great  prosperity  set  in  around  him. 
But  as  soon  as  he  had  been  transferred  to  Maillebois,  Mar- 
tineau, falling  into  the  hands  of  Jauffre,  the  man  of  the 
Congregations,  had  speedily  weakened.  Indeed,  he  was 
incapable  of  action  when  he  did  not  feel  himself  supported 
by  a  resolute  will.  Racial  prudence  deterred  him  from  ex- 
pressing an  opinion  of  his  own;  he  sided  with  the  priest  or 
with  the  schoolmaster  according  as  one  or  the  other  proved 
to  be  the  stronger.  Thus,  while  Jauffre,  thinking  merely  of  his 
own  advancement,  chanted  the  litanies,  rang  the  bell,  and  at- 
tended the  Communion,  Abbe"  Cognasse  gradually  became 
master  of  the  parish,  setting  the  Mayor  and  the  council  be- 
neath his  heel,  to  the  secret  delight  of  the  beautiful  Madame 
Martineau,  who,  though  not  piously  inclined,  was  very  fond 
of  displaying  new  gowns  at  High  Mass  on  days  of  festival. 
Never  had  there  been  a  plainer  demonstration  of  the  axiom, 
'According  to  the  worth  of  the  schoolmaster,  such  is  the 
worth  of  the  school;  and  according  to  the  worth  of  the 
school,  such  is  the  worth  of  the  parish.'  In  very  few  years, 
indeed,  the  prosperity  which  had  declared  itself  in  Jonville, 
the  ground  which  had  been  gained,  thanks  to  Marc,  was 
lost.  The  village  retrograded,  its  life  died  away  in  increas- 
ing torpor  after  Jauffre  had  delivered  Martineau  and  his 
fellow-parishioners  into  the  hands  of  the  triumphant 
Cognasse. 

In  this  way  sixteen  years  elapsed,  bringing  disaster.  All 
moral  and  intellectual  decline  leads  inevitably  to  material 
misery.  There  is  no  country  where  the  Roman  Church  has 


TRUTH  459 

reigned  as  absolute  sovereign  that  is  not  now  a  dead 
country.  Ignorance,  error,  and  base  credulity  render  men 
powerless.  And  what  can  be  the  use  of  exercising  one's 
will,  acting  and  progressing,  if  one  be  a  mere  toy  in  the 
hands  of  a  Deity  who  plays  with  one  according  to  his 
fancy  ?  That  Deity  suffices,  supplies  the  place  of  every- 
thing. At  the  end  of  such  a  religion  of  terrestrial  and 
human  nothingness,  there  is  but  stupidity,  inertia,  surren- 
der into  the  hands  of  Providence,  mere  routine  in  the 
avocations  of  life,  idleness,  and  want.  Jauffre  let  his  boys 
gorge  themselves  with  Bible  history  and  Catechism,  while 
in  their  peasant  families  all  ideas  of  any  improved  system 
of  cultivating  the  land  were  regarded  with  increasing  sus- 
picion. They  knew  nothing  of  those  matters,  they  would 
not  learn.  Fields  remained  unproductive,  crops  were  lost 
for  want  of  intelligent  care.  Then  effort  seemed  excessive 
and  useless,  and  the  countryside  became  impoverished, 
deserted,  though  above  it  there  still  shone  the  all-powerful 
and  fructifying  sun — that  ignored,  insulted  god  of  life. 

The  decline  of  Jonville  had  become  yet  more  marked 
after  Abbe1  Cognasse  had  prevailed  on  the  weak  Martineau 
to  allow  the  parish  to  be  dedicated  to  the  Sacred  Heart  in  a 
pompous  and  well-remembered  ceremony.  The  peasants 
were  still  waiting  for  that  Sacred  Heart  to  bring  them  the 
wondrous  promised  harvests  by  dispelling  the  hailstorms 
and  granting  rain  and  fine  weather  in  due  season.  By  way 
of  result  one  only  found  more  imbecility  weighing  on  the 
parish,  a  sleepy  waiting  for  divine  intervention,  the  slow 
agony  of  fanatical  believers,  in  whom  all  power  of  initiative 
has  been  destroyed,  and  who,  if  their  Deity  did  not  nourish 
them,  would  let  themselves  starve  rather  than  raise  an  arm. 

During  the  first  days  that  followed  his  return,  Marc,  on 
taking  a  few  country  walks  with  Genevieve,  felt  quite  dis- 
tressed by  all  the  incompetency  and  neglect  he  beheld. 
The  fields  were  ill-kept,  the  roads  scarcely  passable.  One 
morning  they  went  as  far  as  Le  Moreux,  where  they  found 
Mignot  installing  himself  in  his  wretched  school,  and  feeling 
as  grieved  as  they  were  that  the  district  should  have  fallen 
into  such  a  deplorable  state. 

'  You  have  no  idea,  my  friends,'  said  he,  '  of  the  ravages 
of  that  terrible  Cognasse.  He  exercises  some  little  restraint 
at  Jonville;  but  here,  in  this  lonely  village,  whose  inhabit- 
ants are  too  miserly  to  pay  for  a  priest  of  their  own,  he 
terrorises  and  sabres  everybody.  Of  late  years,  he  and  his 


460  TRUTH 

creature  Chagnat,  while  reigning  here,  virtually  suppressed 
the  Mayor,  Saleur,  who  felt  flattered  at  being  re-elected 
every  time,  but  who  turned  all  the  worries  of  his  office  over 
to  his  secretary,  Chagnat,  and  by  way  of  exhibiting  his 
person,  let  himself  be  taken  to  Mass,  though  at  heart  he 
scarcely  cared  for  the  priests.  .  .  .  Ah!  how  well  I 
now  understand  the  torments  of  poor  Fe>ou,  his  exaspera- 
tion, and  the  fit  of  lunacy  which  led  to  his  martyrdom.' 

With  a  quivering  gesture  Marc  indicated  that  he  was 
haunted  by  the  thought  of  that  unhappy  man,  struck  down 
by  a  revolver-shot  yonder,  under  the  burning  sun.  '  When 
I  came  in  just  now,  he  seemed  to  rise  before  me.  Famished, 
having  only  his  scanty  pay  to  provide  for  himself,  his  wife, 
and  his  children,  he  endured  untold  agony  at  feeling  that 
he  was  the  only  intelligent,  the  only  educated,  man  among 
all  those  ignorant  dolts  living  at  their  ease,  who  disdained 
him  for  his  poverty  and  feared  him  for  his  attainments, 
which  humiliated  them.  .  .  .  That  explains,  too,  the 
power  acquired  by  Chagnat  over  the  Mayor,  the  latter's 
one  desire  being  to  live  in  peace  on  his  income,  in  the 
somnolent  state  of  a  man  whose  appetite  is  satisfied. ' 

'But  the  whole  parish  is  like  that,'  Mignot  replied. 
'  There  are  no  poor,  and  each  peasant  remains  content  with 
what  he  harvests,  not  in  a  spirit  of  wisdom,  but  from  a  kind 
of  egotism,  ignorance,  and  laziness.  If  they  are  perpetually 
quarrelling  with  the  priest,  it  is  because  they  accuse  him  of 
slighting  them,  of  not  giving  them  the  Masses  and  other 
ceremonies  to  which  they  consider  themselves  entitled. 
Thanks  to  Chagnat,  in  his  time  something  like  an  under- 
standing was  arrived  at,  and,  indeed,  all  that  was  said  and 
done  here  in  honour  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua  can  hardly  be 
pictured.  .  .  .  But  the  result  of  Chagnat's  rtgime  is 
deplorable ;  I  found  the  school  as  dirty  as  a  cowshed ;  one 
might  have  thought  that  the  Chagnats  had  lodged  all  the 
cattle  of  the  district  in  it,  and  I  had  to  engage  a  woman  to 
help  me  to  scour  and  scrape  everything. ' 

Genevieve,  meantime,  had  become  dreamy;  her  glance 
seemed  to  wander  away  to  far-off  memories.  'Ah!  poor 
F£rou!'  she  murmured,  '  I  was  not  always  kind  to  him  and 
his  family.  That  is  one  of  my  regrets.  But  how  can  one 
remedy  so  much  suffering  and  disaster  ?  We  have  so  little 
power,  we  are  still  so  few.  There  are  times  when  I  despair. ' 
Then,  suddenly  waking  up,  as  it  were,  and  smiling,  she 
nestled  close  to  her  husband  and  resumed :  '  There,  there, 


TRUTH  461 

don't  scold  me,  my  dear,  I  did  wrong  to  speak  like  that. 
But  you  must  allow  me  enough  time  to  become  fearless  and 
reproachless  as  you  yourself  are.  .  .  .  Come,  it 's  under- 
stood, we  are  going  to  set  to  work,  and  we  shall  conquer.' 

Thereupon  they  all  became  merry,  and  Mignot,  who 
wished  to  escort  his  friends  a  little  way,  ended  by  accom- 
panying them  almost  to  Jonville.  There,  at  the  roadside, 
stood  a  large  square  building,  a  kind  of  factory,  the  branch 
establishment  of  the  Good  Shepherd  of  Beaumont,  which 
had  been  promised  at  the  time  of  the  consecration  of  the 
parish  to  the  Sacred  Heart,  and  which  had  now  been  work- 
ing for  several  years.  The  fine  clerical  folk  had  made  a 
great  noise  about  the  prosperity  which  such  an  establish- 
ment would  bring  with  it :  all  the  daughters  of  the  peasants 
would  find  employment  and  become  skilful  workwomen, 
there  would  be  a  great  improvement  in  their  morality, 
drones  and  gadabouts  would  be  duly  corrected,  and  the 
business  might  end  by  endowing  the  district  with  quite  an 
industry. 

The  specialty  of  the  Good  Shepherd  establishments  was 
to  provide  the  big  drapery  shops  of  Paris  with  petticoats, 
knickers,  and  chemises — the  finest,  most  ornamental,  and 
most  delicate  feminine  body  linen.  At  Jonville,  under  the 
superintendence  of  some  ten  sisters,  two  hundred  girls 
worked  from  morning  till  night,  trying  their  eyes  over  all 
that  rich  and  fashionable  underwear,  which  was  often  des- 
tined for  strange  festivities.  And  those  two  hundred  little 
lingires  constituted  but  a  tiny  fraction  of  all  the  poor  hire- 
lings who  were  thus  exploited,  for  the  Order  had  establish- 
ments from  one  to  the  other  end  of  France;  nearly  fifty 
thousand  girls  toiled  in  its  workshops,  scantily  paid,  ill- 
treated,  and  ill-fed,  while  they  earned  for  it  millions  of 
francs.  At  Jonville,  there  had  been  speedy  disenchantment, 
none  of  the  fine  promises  had  been  fulfilled,  the  establish- 
ment seemed  a  gulf  which  swallowed  up  the  last  energies  of 
the  region.  The  farms  were  raided  and  their  women  folk 
carried  off,  the  peasants  could  no  longer  keep  their  daugh- 
ters with  them, — the  girls  all  dreamt  of  becoming  young 
ladies,  of  spending  their  days  on  chairs,  engaged  in  light 
work.  But  they  soon  repented  of  their  folly,  for  what  with 
the  long  hours  of  enforced  immobility,  the  exhausting  strain 
of  unremitting  application,  never  was  there  more  frightful 
drudgery;  the  stomach  remained  empty,  the  head  became 
heavy,  there  was  no  time  for  sleep  in  summer,  and  there 


462  TRUTH 

was  no  fire  in  winter.  The  place  was  a  prison-house,  where, 
under  the  pretext  of  practising  charity,  of  promoting  moral- 
ity, woman  was  exploited  in  the  most  frightful  manner, 
sweated  in  her  flesh,  stupefied  in  her  intelligence,  turned 
into  a  beast  of  burden,  from  whom  the  greatest  gain  possible 
was  extracted.  And  scandals  burst  forth  at  Jonville;  one 
girl  nearly  perished  of  cold  and  starvation,  another  became 
half  mad,  while  another,  turned  out  of  doors  penniless  after 
years  of  crushing  toil,  rebelled,  and  threatened  the  good 
sisters  with  a  sensational  lawsuit.1 

Marc,  stopping  short  on  the  road,  looked  at  the  big  fac- 
tory, silent  like  a  prison,  deathly  like  a  cloister,  where  so 
many  young  lives  were  wearing  themselves  away,  nothing 
carolling,  meanwhile,  the  happiness  of  fruitful  work. 

'  One  source  of  the  Church's  strength,'  said  he,  '  a  very 
simple  matter  in  practice,  is  that  she  stoops  to  present-day 
requirements  and  borrows  our  own  weapons  to  fight  us. 
She  manufactures  and  she  trades;  there  is  no  object  or 
article  of  daily  consumption  that  she  does  not  produce  or 
sell,  from  clothes  to  liqueurs.  Several  Orders  are  merely 
industrial  associations,  which  undersell  other  people,  as 
they  secure  labour  for  next  to  nothing,  and  thus  compete 
disloyally  with  our  smaller  producers.  The  millions  of 
francs  they  gain  go  into  the  cash-boxes  of  the  Black  Band, 
supplying  sinews  for  the  war  of  extermination  which  is 
waged  against  us,  swelling  the  thousands  of  millions  which 
the  Congregations  possess  already,  and  which  may  render 
them  so  redoubtable.' 

Genevieve  and  Mignot  had  listened  thoughtfully.  And 
a  moment  of  anxious  silence  now  followed  amid  the  evening 
quietude,  while  the  sunset  cast  a  great  pink  glow  on  the 
closed  and  mournful  factory  of  the  Good  Shepherd. 

'Why,  I  myself  seem  to  be  despairing  now! '  Marc  re- 
sumed gaily.  '  They  are  still  very  powerful,  it  is  certain. 
But  we  have  a  book  on  our  side,  the  little  book  of  element- 
ary knowledge,  which  brings  truth  with  it,  and  which  will 
end  by  for  ever  overcoming  the  falsehoods  they  have  circu- 
lated for  so  many  centuries.  All  our  strength  is  in  that, 
Mignot.  They  may  accumulate  ruins  here,  they  may  lead 

1  In  the  above  account  of  the  Good  Shepherd  establishments,  M. 
Zola  has  made  use  of  numerous  incidents  brought  to  light  by  proceed- 
ings in  the  French  law  courts,  and  also  by  the  action  of  the  Bishop  of 
Nancy,  who,  in  attempting  to  put  a  stop  to  abominable  practices,  in- 
curred the  odium  of  all  the  money-grubbing  Congregations. —  Trans, 


TRUTH  463 

poor  ignorant  folk  backward,  and  destroy  the  little  good 
done  by  us  formerly;  but  it  will  suffice  for  us  to  resume  our 
efforts  to  bring  about  progress  by  knowledge,  and  we  shall 
regain  the  lost  ground,  and  continue  to  advance  until  we  at 
last  reach  the  City  of  solidarity  and  peace.  Their  prison- 
house  of  the  Good  Shepherd  will  crumble  like  all  others, 
their  Sacred  Heart  will  go  whither  all  the  gross  fetiches  of 
the  dead  religions  have  gone.  You  hear  me,  Mignot;  each 
pupil  in  whom  you  instil  a  little  truth  will  be  another  helper 
in  the  cause  of  justice.  So  to  work,  to  work!  Victory  is 
certain,  whatever  difficulties  and  sufferings  may  be  en- 
countered on  the  road!  ' 

That  cry  of  faith  and  everlasting  hope  rang  out  across 
the  quiet  countryside  amid  the  calm  setting  of  the  planet 
which  foretold  a  bright  to-morrow.  And  Mignot  bravely 
returned  to  his  task  at  Le  Moreux,  while  Marc  and  Gene- 
vieve  went  homeward  to  begin  their  work  at  Jonville. 

Arduous  work  it  was,  requiring  much  will  and  patience, 
for  it  was  necessary  to  free  Mayor  Martineau,  the  parish 
council,  and  indeed  the  whole  village  from  the  hands  of  the 
priest,  who  was  determined  not  to  relax  his  hold.  On 
hearing  of  Marc's  appointment,  Abb£  Cognasse,  instead  of 
evincing  any  anger  or  fear  of  the  redoubtable  adversary 
who  was  being  sent  to  face  him,  had  contented  himself  with 
shrugging  his  shoulders  and  affecting  extreme  contempt. 
He  said  on  all  sides  that  this  beaten  man,  this  disgraced 
mediocrity,  who  had  lost  all  honour  by  his  complicity  in  the 
Simon  case,  would  not  remain  six  months  at  Jonville.  His 
superiors  had  merely  sent  him  there  in  order  to  finish  him 
off,  not  wishing  to  execute  him  at  one  blow.  In  reality,  no 
doubt,  Abb£  Cognasse  scarcely  felt  at  ease,  for  he  knew  the 
man  he  had  to  deal  with — a  man  all  calmness  and  strength, 
derived  from  his  reliance  on  truth.  And  that  the  priest 
plainly  scented  danger  was  shown  by  the  prudence  and 
sangfroid  which  he  himself  strove  to  preserve,  for  fear  of 
spoiling  everything  if  he  should  yield  to  some  of  his  cus- 
tomary fits  of  passion.  Thus  the  unexpected  spectacle  of 
a  superbly  diplomatic  Abb£  Cognasse,  who  left  to  Provi- 
dence the  duty  of  striking  down  the  enemy,  was  presented 
to  the  village.  As  his  servant  Palmyre,  who  with  increasing 
age  had  become  quite  terrible,  did  not  possess  sufficient 
self-restraint  to  imitate  his  silent  contempt,  he  scolded  her 
in  public  when  she  ventured  to  declare  that  the  new  school- 
master had  stolen  some  consecrated  wafers  from  the  church 


464  TRUTH 

at  Maillebois  for  the  purpose  of  profaning  them  in  the  pres- 
ence of  his  pupils.  That  was  not  proved,  said  the  Abbe1, 
nor  was  there  any  proof  of  the  story  that  hell  had  lent  Marc 
a  devil,  who,  on  being  summoned,  stepped  out  of  the  wail 
and  helped  him  with  his  class-work.  Indoors,  however, 
all  was  agreement  between  the  priest  and  the  servant,  who 
both  displayed  extraordinary  greed  and  avarice,  the  former 
picking  up  as  many  Masses  as  possible,  the  latter  keeping 
the  accounts,  and  growling  angrily  when  money  did  not 
come  in.  With  reference  to  Marc,  then,  there  ensued,  on 
the  Abbess  part,  a  stealthy  and  venomous  campaign,  with 
the  object  of  destroying  both  the  master  and  his  school,  in 
order  that  he,  Cognasse,  might  continue  to  reign  over  the 
parish. 

Marc,  on  his  side,  behaved  as  if  the  Church  and  the  priest 
did  not  exist.  To  win  back  Martineau,  the  council,  and  the 
inhabitants,  he  contented  himself  with  teaching  the  truth, 
with  promoting  the  triumph  of  reason  over  ridiculous  dog- 
mas, limiting  himself  strictly  to  his  duties  as  a  master,  con- 
vinced as  he  was  that  the  true  and  the  good  would  prove 
victorious  when  he  should  have  fashioned  hearts  and  minds 
capable  of  will  and  understanding.  He  had  necessarily 
resumed  the  duties  of  secretary  at  the  parish  office,  but  he 
there  contented  himself  with  discreetly  advising  Martineau, 
who  at  heart  was  well  pleased  by  his  return.  The  Mayor 
had  already  had  a  quarrel  with  his  wife  respecting  the 
chanting  of  Mass,  which  chanting  Abb£  Cognasse  had  done 
away  with  now  that  Jauffre  was  no  longer  there.  And 
there  was  also  the  ancient  and  everlasting  quarrel  about  the 
church  clock,  which  would  not  work.  The  first  thing 
which  showed  that  a  change  had  taken  place  at  Jonville 
was  the  vote  of  a  sum  of  three  hundred  francs  by  the  coun- 
cil for  the  purchase  of  a  new  clock  which  was  fixed  to  the 
pediment  of  the  parish  offices.  This  seemed  a  very  bold 
step  to  take,  but  it  met  with  the  approval  of  the  villagers. 
They  would  at  last  know  the  correct  time,  which  the  rusty, 
old,  worn-out  clock  of  the  church  no  longer  gave.  How- 
ever, Marc  avoided  any  semblance  of  triumph;  he  knew 
that  years  would  be  needed  to  regain  all  the  lost  ground. 
Each  day  would  bring  a  little  progress,  and  he  patiently 
sowed  the  future,  convinced  that  those  peasants  would 
come  over  to  his  side  when  they  found  in  truth  the  one  sole 
source  of  health,  prosperity,  and  peace. 

And  now,  for  Marc  and  Genevieve,  came  fruitful  years 


TRUTH  465 

of  work  and  happiness.  He,  in  particular,  had  never  felt 
so  courageous  and  strong.  The  loving  return  of  his  wife, 
and  the  complete  union  which  had  followed  it,  brought  him 
fresh  power,  for  his  life  now  accorded  with  his  work.  In 
former  times  he  had  greatly  suffered  at  finding  that,  while 
he  claimed  to  teach  truth  to  others,  he  could  not  convince 
the  companion  of  his  life,  the  wife  he  loved,  the  mother  of 
his  children;  and  he  had  felt  hampered  in  his  task  of  wresting 
others  from  error  when,  from  weakness  or  powerlessness,  he 
tolerated  error  in  his  own  home.  But  now  he  possessed 
irresistible  strength,  all  the  authority  which  comes  to  one 
from  example,  from  the  realisation  of  happiness  at  the 
family  hearth  through  perfect  agreement  and  a  common 
faith.  And  what  healthy  delight  there  was  in  the  prosecu- 
tion of  the  same  work  by  the  husband  and  the  wife,  acting 
in  conjunction  one  with  the  other,  and  yet  freely,  each  re- 
taining the  exercise  of  his  or  her  individuality!  Moments 
of  weakness  still  came  occasionally  to  Genevieve,  but 
Marc  scarcely  intervened;  he  preferred  to  let  her  regret 
and  repair  the  errors  arising  from  the  past,  of  her  own  ac- 
cord. 

Every  evening,  when  the  boys  and  girls  had  gone  home, 
the  master  and  the  mistress  found  themselves  together  in 
their  little  lodging,  and  talked  of  the  children  confided  to 
them,  taking  account  of  the  day's  work,  and  coming  to  an 
understanding  respecting  the  work  of  the  morrow,  though 
without  binding  themselves  to  identical  programmes. 
Genevieve,  being  sentimentally  inclined,  endeavoured  the 
more  particularly  to  make  sincere  and  happy  creatures  of 
her  girls,  trying  to  free  them  from  the  ancient  slavery  less 
by  knowledge  than  by  sense  and  love,  for  fear  of  casting 
them  into  pride  and  solitude.  Marc,  perhaps,  would  have 
gone  further,  and  have  fed  both  boys  and  girls  on  the  same 
knowledge,  leaving  life  to  indicate  the  social  rdle  of  each 
sex.  Before  long  the  great  regret  experienced  by  himself 
and  his  wife  was  that  they  did  not  direct  a  mixed  school, 
like  Mignot's  at  Le  Moreux,  whose  population  of  little 
more  than  two  hundred  souls  supplied  scarcely  a  dozen 
boys  and  as  many  girls.  At  Jonville,  which  numbered 
nearly  eight  hundred  inhabitants,  the  master  had  some  thirty 
boys  under  him,  and  the  mistress  some  thirty  girls.  Had 
they  been  united,  what  a  fine  class  there  would  have  been 
— Marc  acting  as  director,  and  Genevieve  as  his  assistant! 
Such  indeed  was  their  idea;  had  they  been  in  authority 


466  TRUTH 

they  would  no  longer  have  separated  the  girls  from  the 
boys;  they  would  have  entrusted  all  those  little  folk  to  a 
married  couple,  a  father  and  a  mother,  who  would  have 
educated  and  reared  them  one  with  the  other  as  if  they  all 
belonged  to  their  own  family.  They  held  that  all  sorts  of 
advantages  would  result  from  such  a  course,  a  more  logical 
apprenticeship  of  life,  excellent  emulation,  more  frank  and 
gentle  manners.  In  particular,  the  adjunction  of  the  wife 
to  the  husband  as  an  assistant  seemed  likely  to  prove  fruit- 
ful in  good  results.  Briefly,  they  would  have  liked  to  pull 
down  the  wall  which  separated  their  pupils  from  one 
another,  in  such  wise  as  to  have  had  but  one  school,  a  little 
miniature  world  in  which  he  would  have  set  his  virility,  she 
her  tenderness,  and  what  good  work  would  they  not  then 
have  accomplished,  devoting  themselves  entirely  to  those 
little  couples  of  the  future! 

But  the  regulations  had  to  be  observed,  and  Marc,  on 
resuming  his  work,  pursued  the  methods  that  he  had  fol- 
lowed at  Maillebois  for  fifteen  years.  His  class  was  smaller 
than  it  had  been  there,  and  his  resources  were  more  limited ; 
but  he  had  the  satisfaction  of  being  almost  en  famille^  and 
his  action  became  more  direct  and  efficacious.  After  all, 
what  did  it  matter  if  the  number  of  pupils  whom  he  fash- 
ioned into  men  was  only  a  score  or  so  ?  Had  each  school- 
master in  all  the  little  villages  followed  Marc's  example,  so 
as  to  endow  the  nation  with  twenty  just  and  sensible  men, 
the  result  would  have  sufficed  to  make  France  the  emanci- 
pator of  the  world.  Another  source  of  contentment  for 
Marc  was  that  he  secured  almost  complete  liberty  of  action 
from  Mauraisin's  successor,  the  new  Elementary  Inspector, 
M.  Mauroy,  to  whom  Le  Barazer,  whose  friend  he  was,  had 
discreetly  given  special  instructions.  The  village  was  so 
small  that  Marc's  doings  could  not  attract  much  attention, 
and  thus  he  was  able  to  pursue  his  methods  without  any 
great  interference.  As  a  first  step,  he  again  got  rid  of  all 
religious  emblems,  all  pictures,  copybooks,  and  books  in 
which  the  supernatural  was  shown  triumphant,  and  in  which 
war,  massacre,  and  rapine  appeared  as  ideals  of  power  and 
beauty.  He  considered  that  it  was  a  crime  to  poison  a 
lad's  brain  with  a  belief  in  miracles,  and  to  set  brute  force, 
assassination,  and  theft  in  the  front  rank  as  manly  and 
patriotic  duties.  Such  teaching  could  only  produce  imbecile 
inertia,  sudden  criminal  frenzy,  iniquity,  and  wretchedness. 
Marc's  dream,  on  the  contrary,  was  to  set  pictures  of  work, 


TRUTH  467 

and  peace  before  his  pupils,  to  show  sovereign  reason  ruling 
the  world,  justice  establishing  brotherliness  among  men,  the 
ancient  violence  of  warlike  ages  being  condemned,  and 
giving  place  to  agreement  among  all  nations,  in  order  that 
they  might  arrive  at  the  greatest  possible  happiness.  And 
having  rid  his  class  of  the  poisonous  ferments  of  the  past, 
Marc  particularly  instructed  his  pupils  in  civic  morality, 
striving  to  make  each  a  citizen  well  informed  about  his 
country,  and  able  to  serve  and  love  it,  without  setting  it 
apart  from  the  rest  of  mankind.  Marc  held  that  France 
ought  no  longer  to  dream  of  conquering  the  world  by  arms, 
but  rather  by  the  irresistible  force  of  ideas,  and  by  setting 
an  example  of  so  much  freedom,  truth,  and  equity,  that 
she  would  deliver  all  other  countries  and  enjoy  the  glory  of 
founding  with  them  the  great  confederation  of  free  and 
brotherly  nations. 

For  the  rest,  Marc  tried  to  conform  to  the  school  pro- 
grammes, though,  as  they  were  very  heavy,  he  occasionally 
set  them  aside.  Experience  had  taught  him  that  learning 
was  nothing  if  one  did  not  understand  what  one  learnt  and 
if  one  could  not  put  it  to  use.  Accordingly,  without  ex- 
cluding books,  he  gave  great  development  to  oral  lessons, 
and,  once  again,  he  strove  to  rejuvenate  himself,  to  share 
the  pastimes  of  his  pupils,  and  descend,  as  it  were,  to  their 
mental  level,  in  such  wise  that,  like  them,  he  seemed  to  be 
learning,  seeking  truth,  and  making  discoveries.  It  was  in 
the  fields  also  that  he  explained  to  them  how  the  soil 
ought  to  be  cultivated,  and  he  took  them  to  carpenters, 
locksmiths,  and  masons  in  order  that  they  might  acquire 
correct  ideas  of  manual  work.  In  his  opinion,  moreover, 
it  was  fit  that  gymnastics  should  partake  of  the  character  of 
amusement,  and  thus  playtime  was  largely  devoted  to  bodily 
exercise.  Again,  Marc  took  on  himself  the  office  of  a 
judge;  he  requested  his  boys  to  lay  all  their  little  differ- 
ences before  him,  and  he  strove  to  make  his  decisions 
acceptable  to  all  parties;  for  not  only  did  he  possess  abso- 
lute faith  in  the  beneficent  power  of  truth  upon  young 
minds,  but  he  was  also  convinced  of  the  necessity  of  equity 
to  content  and  ripen  them.  By  truth  and  justice  towards 
love:  such  was  his  motto.  A  boy  to  whom  one  never  tells 
a  falsehood,  whom  one  treats  invariably  with  justice,  be- 
comes  a  friendly,  sensible,  intelligent,  and  healthy  man. 
And  this  was  why  Marc  kept  such  a  careful  watch  over  the 
books  which  the  curriculum  compelled  him  to  place  in  the 


468  TRUTH 

hands  of  his  pupils;  for  he  well  knew  that  the  best  of  them, 
written  with  the  most  excellent  intentions,  were  still  full  of 
ancient  falsehoods,  the  great  iniquities  consecrated  by  his- 
tory. If  he  distrusted  phrases  and  words,  the  sense  of  which 
seemed  likely  to  escape  his  little  peasants,  and  endeavoured 
to  interpret  them  in  clear  and  simple  language,  he  feared 
yet  more  the  dangerous  legends,  the  errors  of  articles  of 
faith,  the  abominable  notions  set  forth  in  the  name  of  a 
mendacious  religion  and  a  false  patriotism.  There  was 
often  no  difference  between  the  books  written  by  clerics  for 
the  Brothers'  schools  and  those  which  university  men  pre- 
pared for  the  secular  ones.  The  intentional  errors  contained 
in  the  former  were  reproduced  in  the  latter,  and  it  was  im- 
possible for  Marc  to  refrain  from  intervening  and  refuting 
those  errors  by  verbal  explanations,  since  it  was  essentially 
his  task  to  fight  the  Congregational  system  of  teaching,  that 
source  of  all  falsehood  and  all  misery. 

For  four  years  Marc  and  Genevieve  worked  on,  modestly 
but  efficaciously,  silently  accomplishing  as  much  good  as 
was  possible  in  their  little  sphere.  Generations  of  children 
followed  one  another;  and  to  the  master  and  the  mistress  it 
seemed  that  fifty  years  would  have  sufficed  to  rejuvenate  the 
world,  if  each  child,  on  reaching  maturity,  had  contributed 
to  it  a  little  more  truth  and  justice.  Four  years  of  effort  had 
certainly  not  yielded  a  marked  result,  but  many  good  symp- 
toms were  manifest;  the  future  was  already  rising  from  the 
fruitful  soil,  sown  so  perseveringly. 

Salvan,  after  being  pensioned  off,  had  ended  by  taking  up 
his  abode  at  Jonville,  in  a  little  house  left  him  by  a  cousin. 
He  lived  there  like  a  sage,  with  just  enough  money  to  pro- 
vide for  his  wants  and  indulge  in  the  cultivation  of  a  few 
flowers.  In  his  garden,  under  an  arbour  of  roses  and 
clematis,  there  was  a  large  stone  table,  round  which  on 
Sundays  he  liked  to  assemble  a  few  friends,  former  pupils 
of  the  Training  College,  who  chatted,  fraternised,  and  in- 
dulged together  in  fine  dreams.  Salvan  was  the  patriarch 
of  the  gathering,  which  Marc  joined  every  Sunday,  his 
satisfaction  being  complete  whenever  he  there  met  Joulic, 
his  successor  at  Maillebois,  from  whom  he  obtained  in- 
formation about  his  old  school.  Joulic  was  a  tall,  slim, 
fair  young  man,  gentle  yet  energetic,  who  had  taken  to  the 
teaching  profession  by  taste,  and  in  order  to  escape  the 
brutifying  office  life  from  which  his  father,  a  petty  clerk, 
had  suffered.  One  of  Salvan's  best  pupils,  he  brought  to 


TRUTH  469 

his  work  a  mind  liberated  from  all  absurd  dogmas,  won  over 
entirely  to  experimental  methods.  And  thanks  to  a  great 
deal  of  shrewdness  and  quiet  firmness,  which  had  enabled 
him  to  avoid  the  traps  set  for  him  by  the  Congregations,  he 
proved  very  successful  at  Maillebois.  He  had  lately  mar- 
ried a  schoolmaster's  daughter,  a  fair  little  creature,  gentle 
like  himself,  and  this  had  helped  to  make  his  school  an 
abode  of  gaiety  and  peace. 

One  Sunday,  when  Marc  reached  Salvan's,  he  found 
Joulic  already  chatting  with  the  master  of  the  house  at  the 
stone  table  in  the  flowery  arbour,  and  they,  at  the  sight  of 
him,  at  once  made  merry. 

'  Come  on,  my  friend!  '  cried  Salvan;  '  here  's  Joulic  tell- 
ing me  that  some  more  boys  have  left  the  Brothers'  school 
at  Maillebois.  People  say  that  we  are  beaten,  but  we  work 
on  quietly,  and  our  action  spreads  and  triumphs  more  and 
more  each  year! ' 

'  Yes,'  Joulic  added,  '  everything  is  progressing  at  Maille- 
bois, which  once  seemed  to  be  the  rotten  borough  of  cleri- 
calism. .  .  .  Brother  Joachim,  Fulgence's  successor, 
is  certainly  a  very  clever  man,  as  artful  and  as  prudent  as 
the  other  was  wild  and  rough,  but  he  cannot  overcome  the 
distrust  of  the  families  of  the  town — the  turn  which  public 
opinion  has  taken  against  the  Congregational  schools,  where 
the  studies  are  indifferent  and  the  morals  doubtful.  Simon 
may  have  been  reconvicted,  but,  all  the  same,  the  ghost  of 
Gorgias  returns  to  the  spot  which  he  polluted,  and  his  very 
defenders  are  haunted  by  the  memory  of  his  crime.  And 
thus  I  recruit  each  boy  who  leaves  the  Ignorantines.' 

Marc,  who  had  now  seated  himself,  laughed  and  thanked 
his  young  colleague.  '  You  don't  know  how  much  your 
news  pleases  me,  my  dear  Joulic,'  he  replied.  'When  I 
quitted  Maillebois  I  left  a  part  of  my  heart  there,  and  I  felt 
worried  as  to  what  might  become  of  the  work  which  I  had 
been  pursuing  for  fifteen  years;  but  I  have  long  ceased  to 
feel  any  anxiety,  knowing  my  old  school  to  be  in  such 
capable  hands  as  yours.  Yes,  if  some  of  the  poison  which 
infected  Maillebois  has  been  eliminated,  it  is  because  the 
pupils  who  quit  you,  year  by  year,  become  men  of  sense 
and  equity.  .  .  .  Ask  your  old  master,  Salvan,  what 
he  thinks  of  you.' 

But  Joulic  with  a  gesture  curtailed  Marc's  praises.  '  No, 
no,'  said  he,  '  I  am  only  a  pawn  in  the  great  battle.  If  I 
am  worth  anything  I  owe  it  to  my  training,  so  that  the  chief 


47O  TRUTH 

merit  belongs  to  our  master.  Besides,  I  am  not  alone  at 
Maillebois;  I  derive  the  most  precious  help,  I  will  even  say 
the  greatest  support,  from  Mademoiselle  Mazeline.  She 
has  often  consoled  and  encouraged  me.  You  cannot 
imagine  how  much  moral  energy  that  gentle  and  sensible 
woman  possesses.  A  large  part  of  our  success  is  due  to 
her,  for  it  is  she  who  has  gradually  won  family  people  over 
to  our  cause  by  turning  out  so  many  good  wives  and 
mothers.  .  .  .  When  a  woman  personifies  truth,  jus- 
tice, and  love,  she  becomes  the  greatest  power  in  the 
world ' 

Joulic  paused,  for  at  that  moment  Mignot  made  his  ap- 
pearance. Those  Sunday  meetings  brought  delightful  re- 
laxation to  Marc's  former  assistant,  who  cheerfully  walked 
the  two  and  a  half  miles  which  separated  Le  Moreux  from 
Jonville.  Having  caught  Joulic 's  last  words,  he  at  once 
exclaimed:  'Ah!  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  —  do  you  know 
that  I  wanted  to  marry  her  ?  I  never  mentioned  it,  but  I 
may  admit  it  now.  .  .  .  It  is  all  very  well  to  say  that 
she  is  plain;  but  at  Maillebois,  on  seeing  how  good  and 
sensible,  how  admirable  she  was,  I  dreamt  of  her.  And 
one  day  I  told  her  of  my  idea.  You  should  have  seen  how 
moved  she  was — grave,  yet  smiling,  quite  sisterly!  She 
explained  her  position  to  me,  saying  that  she  was  too  old — 
already  five  and  thirty,  just  my  own  age.  Besides,  she 
added,  her  girls  had  become  her  family,  and  she  had  long 
renounced  all  idea  of  living  for  herself.  .  .  .  Yet  I 
fancy  that  my  proposal  stirred  up  some  old  regrets.  .  .  . 
Briefly,  we  continued  good  friends,  and  I  decided  to  remain 
a  bachelor,  though  this  occasionally  embarrasses  me  at  Le 
Moreux,  on  account  of  my  girl  pupils,  who  would  be  better 
cared  for  by  a  woman.' 

Then  he,  also,  gave  some  good  news  of  the  state  of  feel- 
ing in  his  parish.  All  the  crass  ignorance  and  error,  which 
Chagnat  had  voluntarily  allowed  to  accumulate  there,  were 
beginning  to  disappear.  Saleur,  the  Mayor,  had  experi- 
enced great  trouble  with  his  son,  Honore,  whom  he  had 
sent  to  the  Lyc6e  of  Beaumont,  where  he  had  been  stuffed 
by  the  chaplain  with  as  much  religious  knowledge  as  he 
would  have  acquired  in  a  seminary — in  such  wise  that, 
after  being  appointed  to  the  management  of  a  little  Catholic 
bank  in  Paris,  he  had  come  to  grief  there  by  practices 
which  had  nearly  landed  him  in  a  criminal  court.  Since 
then  his  father,  the  ex-grazier,  who  at  heart  had  never 


TRUTH  471 

liked  the  priests,  never  wearied  of  denouncing  what  he 
called  the  Black  Band,  exasperated  as  he  was  by  the  down- 
fall of  his  son,  which  had  quite  upset  his  comfortable  life  as 
an  enriched  peasant.  And  thus,  at  each  fresh  quarrel  with 
Abbe"  Cognasse,  he  sided  with  schoolmaster  Mignot,  carry- 
ing the  parish  council  with  him,  and  threatening  to  have 
nothing  more  to  do  with  the  Church  if  the  priest  should  still 
treat  the  inhabitants  as  a  subjugated  flock.  Indeed,  never 
before  had  that  lonely  sluggish  village  of  Le  Moreux  so 
freely  granted  admittance  to  the  new  ideas.  In  part  this 
was  due  to  the  better  position  which  the  schoolmasters  had 
secured  of  recent  years.  Various  laws  had  been  passed 
improving  their  circumstances,  and  the  lowest  annual 
salaries  were  now  fixed  at  twelve  hundred  francs  without 
any  deductions.'  It  had  not  been  necessary  to  wait  long 
for  the  result  of  this  change.  If  Ferou,  ill-paid,  ragged, 
and  wretched,  had  formerly  incurred  the  contempt  of  the 
peasantry  on  being  compared  by  them  with  Abbe"  Cognasse, 
who  waxed  fat  on  surplice-fees  and  presents,  and  was  there- 
fore honoured  and  feared,  Mignot,  on  the  contrary,  being 
able  to  live  in  a  dignified  way,  had  risen  to  his  proper  posi- 
tion— that  is  the  first.  Indeed,  in  that  century-old  struggle 
between  the  Church  and  the  school,  the  whole  region  was 
now  favouring  the  latter,  whose  victory  appeared  to  be 
certain. 

'  My  peasants  are  still  very  ignorant,'  Mignot  continued. 
'  You  cannot  imagine  what  a  sluggish  spot  Le  Moreux  is, 
all  numbness  and  routine.  The  peasants  have  lands  of 
their  own,  they  have  never  lacked  bread,  and  they  would 
submit  to  be  fleeced  as  in  former  times  rather  than  turn  to 
anything  novel  and  strange.  .  .  .  But  there  is  some 
change  all  the  same;  I  can  see  it  by  the  way  they  take  off 
their  hats  to  me,  and  the  more  and  more  preponderating 
position  which  the  school  assumes  in  their  estimation.  And, 

1  It  is  true  that  such  laws  have  been  passed,  but  in  various  respects 
they  are  merely  of  a  permissive  character,  and  the  financial  circum- 
stances of  the  French  Government  have  hitherto  prevented  the  realisa- 
tion of  provisions  favoured  by  the  Legislature.  Several  publications 
issued  in  the  autumn  of  1902,  since  M.  Zola's  death,  have  shown  this  to 
be  the  case.  M.  Zola,  however,  in  this  last  section  of  'Truth,'  antici- 
pates rather  than  follows  events,  as  will  plainly  appear  in  the  final 
chapters  ;  and,  as  a  strong  movement  in  favour  of  the  secular  school- 
masters is  now  following  the  suppression  of  the  Congregational  schools, 
considerable  improvement  in  the  former's  position  will  probably  take 
place  before  long. —  Trans. 


472  TRUTH 

by  the  way,  this  morning,  when  Abb£  Cognasse  came  over 
to  say  Mass,  there  were  just  three  women  and  a  boy  in  the 
church.  When  the  Abb£  went  off  he  banged  the  vestry 
door  behind  him,  threatening  that  he  would  n't  come  back 
any  more,  as  it  was  useless  for  him  to  walk  all  that  distance 
for  nobody. ' 

Marc  began  to  laugh.  '  Yes,'  said  he,  '  I  've  heard  that 
the  Abb6  is  getting  surly  again  at  Le  Moreux.  Here  he 
still  restrains  himself,  and  strives  to  win  the  battle  by  diplo- 
matic artfulness,  particularly  with  the  women,  for  his 
superiors  have  taught  him,  no  doubt,  that  one  is  never 
beaten  so  long  as  one  has  the  women  on  one's  side.  I 
have  been  told  that  he  frequently  goes  to  Valmarie  to  see 
Father  Crabot,  and  it  is  surely  there  that  he  acquires  that 
unctuous,  caressing  way  with  the  ladies  which  surprises 
one  so  much  in  a  rough,  brutal  man  of  his  stamp.  When 
he  again  loses  his  temper,  as  he  will  some  day,  it  will  be  all 
over.  .  .  .  Besides,  things  are  quite  satisfactory  at 
Jonville.  We  gain  a  little  ground  every  year;  the  parish 
is  regaining  prosperity  and  health.  In  consequence  of  the 
recent  scandals  the  peasants  no  longer  allow  their  daughters 
to  work  at  the  factory  of  the  Good  Shepherd.  And  it  seems 
that  the  parish  council — Martineau  at  the  head  of  it — 
greatly  regrets  its  imbecility  in  having  allowed  Abb6  Cog- 
nasse and  Jauffre  to  dedicate  Jonville  to  the  Sacred  Heart. 
I  am  on  the  lookout  for  an  opportunity  to  efface  that  re- 
membrance, and  I  shall  end  by  finding  one.' 

There  came  a  short  pause.  Then  Salvan,  who  had 
listened  complacently,  said,  by  way  of  conclusion,  in  his 
quiet,  cheerful  manner:  'All  that  is  very  encouraging. 
Maillebois,  Jonville,  and  Le  Moreux  are  advancing  towards 
those  better  times  for  which  we  have  battled.  The  others 
thought  they  would  conquer  us,  exterminate  us  for  ever, 
and  indeed,  for  months,  it  seemed  as  if  we  were  dead;  but 
now  comes  the  slow  awakening,  the  seed  has  germinated  in 
the  ground ;  it  was  sufficient  for  us  to  resume  our  work  in 
silence,  and  the  good  grain  grows  and  flowers  once  more. 
And  now  nothing  will  hinder  the  future  harvest.  The  fact 
is  that  we  have  been  on  the  side  of  truth,  which  nothing  can 
destroy,  nothing  arrest  in  its  splendour.  .  .  .  No 
doubt,  things  are  not  quite  satisfactory  at  Beaumont.  The 
sons  of  Doutrequin,  that  old  Republican  of  the  heroic  times 
who  lapsed  into  clericalism,  have  obtained  advancement, 
and  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire  still  gorges  her  girls  with  Bible 


TRUTH  473 

history  and  Catechism.  But  even  public  feeling  at  Beau- 
mont is  beginning  to  change.  Moreover,  Mauraisin  has 
not  succeeded  at  the  Training  College.  Some  of  the 
students  have  told  me  jocularly  that  my  ghost  appears  to 
him  there,  and  paralyses  him  with  fear.  The  fact  is  that 
the  impulse  had  been  given,  and  he  has  found  it  impossible 
to  stop  the  emancipation  of  the  schoolmaster.  I  even  hope 
that  we  shall  soon  be  rid  of  him.  .  .  .  And  a  very 
hopeful  symptom  is  that,  behind  Maillebois,  Jonville,  and 
Le  Moreux,  there  are  other  small  towns  and  villages,  nearly 
all  in  fact,  where  the  schoolmaster  is  defeating  the  priest, 
and  setting  the  secular  school  erect  on  the  ruins  of  the 
Congregational  school.  Reason  is  triumphing,  and  justice 
and  truth  are  slowly  increasing  their  sphere  of  conquest 
at  Dherbecourt,  Juilleroy,  Rouville,  and  Les  Bordes.  It  is 
a  general  awakening,  an  irresistible  movement,  carrying 
France  towards  her  liberating  mission.' 

'  But  it  is  your  work!  '  cried  Marc  with  sudden  enthus- 
iasm. 'There  is  a  pupil  of  yours  in  each  of  the  localities 
you  have  named.  They  are  the  children  of  your  heart  and 
mind;  it  was  you  who  sent  them  as  missionaries  into  lonely 
country  districts  to  diffuse  the  new  gospel  of  truth  and 
justice.  If  people  are  at  last  awaking,  returning  to  manly 
dignity,  becoming  an  equitable,  free,  and  healthy  democ- 
racy, it  is  because  a  generation  of  your  pupils  is  now  installed 
in  our  classrooms,  instructing  the  young,  and  making  true 
citizens  of  them.  You  are  the  good  workman ;  you  realised 
that  no  progress  is  possible  save  by  reason  and  knowledge.' 

Then  Joulic  and  Mignot  seconded  Marc  with  similar  en- 
thusiasm :  '  Yes,  yes,  you  have  been  the  father,  we  are  your 
children!  The  country  will  only  be  worth  what  the  school- 
masters may  make  it,  and  the  schoolmasters  themselves  can 
only  be  worth  what  the  training  colleges  have  made  them.' 

Salvan,  who  seemed  very  moved,  protested  with  modest 
bonhomie.  '  Men  like  me,  my  friends  ?  Why,  there  are 
some  everywhere;  there  will  be  plenty  when  they  are  allowed 
to  act.  Le  Barazer  helped  me  a  great  deal  by  keeping  me 
at  my  post,  and  not  tying  me  down  too  much.  What  I  did  ? 
Why,  Mauraisin  himself  is  almost  obliged  to  do  the  same, 
for  the  evolution  carries  him  on;  the  work,  once  begun, 
never  stops.  And  you  '11  see,  Mauraisin's  successor  will 
turn  out  even  better  masters  than  those  who  passed  through 
my  hands.  .  .  .  One  thing  which  delights  me,  and 
which  you  have  not  mentioned,  is  that  nowadays  students 


474  TRUTH 

are  recruited  much  more  easily  for  the  training  colleges. 
What  made  me  most  anxious  in  former  times  was  the  dis- 
trust, the  contempt  into  which  the  teaching  profession  had 
fallen,  ill-paid,  unhonoured  as  it  was.  But  since  the  salaries 
have  been  inceased,  now  that  real  honour  attaches  to  the 
humblest  members  of  the  profession,  candidates  arrive  from 
all  quarters,  so  that  one  is  able  to  pick  and  choose,  and  form 
an  excellent  staff.  .  .  .  And  if  I  have  rendered  any  ser- 
vices you  may  be  sure  that,  on  seeing  my  work  continued  and 
fulfilled,  I  feel  rewarded  beyond  all  my  hopes.  At  present 
I  desire  to  remain  a  mere  spectator  of  things;  I  applaud 
your  efforts,  and  live  happily  in  my  little  garden,  delighted  to 
be  forgotten  by  everybody — excepting  you,  my  lads.' 

He  ceased  speaking,  and  a  thrill  of  feeling  passed 
through  the  others  as  they  sat  there  at  the  large  stone  table 
in  the  arbour,  balmy  with  the  perfume  of  the  roses,  while 
from  the  verdant  garden,  from  the  whole  stretch  of  country 
around  them,  infinite  serenity  was  wafted. 

Every  year  since  her  parents  had  removed  to  Jonville, 
Louise  had  spent  the  vacation  with  them.  Her  brother 
Clement  would  now  soon  be  ten  years  old,  and  Marc  still 
kept  him  in  his  school,  giving  him  that  elementary  educa- 
tion which  he  would  have  liked  to  have  seen  generalised, 
applied  to  all  the  children  of  the  nation  to  whatever  class 
they  might  belong,  in  order  that  one  might  have  based  upon 
it,  in  accordance  with  the  tastes  and  talents  of  the  pupils,  a 
system  of  general  and  gratuitous  secondary  education.  If 
his  own  tastes  should  be  shared  by  his  son,  he  intended  to 
prepare  him  for  the  Training  College  of  Beaumont,  for  the 
great  national  work  of  salvation  would  lie  in  the  humble 
village  schools  for  many  years  longer.  Louise  also  had 
disinterestedly  set  her  ambition  upon  becoming  an  elemen- 
tary teacher.  And,  indeed,  on  quitting  the  school  of 
Fontenay  with  the  necessary  certificates,  she  was,  to  her 
great  delight,  appointed  assistant  to  her  former  and  well- 
loved  mistress,  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  at  Maillebois. 

At  that  time  Louise  was  nineteen  years  of  age.  Salvan 
had  intervened  with  Le  Barazer  to  secure  her  appointment, 
which  passed  virtually  unnoticed.  The  times  were  changing 
more  and  more;  the  period  of  delirium — when  the  mere 
names  of  Simon  and  Froment  had  sufficed  to  raise  a  tempest 
— was  quite  over.  And  this  emboldened  Le  Barazer,  six 
months  later,  to  appoint  Simon's  son  Joseph  as  assistant  to 
Joulic.  Joseph,  it  should  be  said,  had  made  his  ddbut  at 


TRUTH  475 

Dherbecourt  after  quitting  the  Training  College  two  years 
previously  with  an  excellent  record.  As  advancement  his 
transfer  to  Maillebois  was  of  little  account,  but  it  was  a 
somewhat  bold  action  to  place  him  in  a  school  where  his 
presence  implied  at  least  some  preliminary  rehabilitation  of 
his  father.  For  a  moment  there  was  a  slight  outcry,  the  Con- 
gregations tried  to  stir  up  the  parents  of  the  town ;  but  the 
new  assistant  soon  won  their  favour,  for  he  behaved  very 
discreetly,  gently,  yet  firmly,  in  all  his  intercourse  with  the 
children. 

One  incident  which  at  that  time  plainly  indicated  the 
change  in  public  opinion  was  the  little  revolution  that  took 
place  at  the  Milhommes'  stationery  shop.  One  day  Madame 
Edouard,  so  long  the  absolute  mistress  of  the  establishment, 
disappeared  into  the  back  shop,  where  Madame  Alexandre 
had  remained  so  many  years.  And  Madame  Alexandre 
took  her  place  at  the  counter  and  served  the  customers. 
Nobody  mistook  the  meaning  of  that  revolution, — the  cus- 
tomers were  changing,  the  secular  school  was  triumphing 
over  its  Congregational  rival,  and  thus,  in  the  interests  of 
the  business,  Madame  Edouard,  like  a  good  trader,  made 
way  for  her  sister-in-law.  It  must  be  said,  too,  that  Madame 
Edouard  now  had  some  great  worries  with  her  son  Victor, 
who,  entering  the  army  after  his  departure  from  the 
Brothers'  school,  and  reaching  the  rank  of  sergeant,  had 
lately  been  compromised  in  a  very  unpleasant  affair;  whereas 
Madame  Alexandre  had  every  right  to  be  proud  of  her  son 
Sebastien,  who  had  been  one  of  Simon's  and  Marc's  best 
pupils,  then  Joseph's  companion  at  the  Training  College, 
and  was  now,  for  three  years  past,  assistant-master  at  Rou- 
ville.  Indeed,  all  those  young  folk,  Sebastien,  Joseph,  and 
Louise,  after  growing  up  together,  had  at  last  reached 
active  life,  bringing  with  them  broad  minds,  ripened  early 
in  the  midst  of  tears,  to  continue  the  bitterly-contested 
work  of  their  elders. 

A  year  went  by.  Louise  was  now  twenty,  and,  repairing 
to  Jonville  every  Sunday,  spent  the  day  with  her  parents. 
She  then  often  met  Joseph  and  Sdbastien,  who  had  re- 
mained great  friends  and  were  very  fond  of  visiting  their 
former  masters,  Marc  and  Salvan.  It  also  frequently  hap- 
pened that  Joseph  was  accompanied  by  his  sister  Sarah, 
who  was  well  pleased  to  spend  a  day  in  the  open  air  among 
her  best  friends.  For  three  years  past  she  had  been  residing 
with  her  grandparents,  the  Lehmanns,  displaying  so  much 


4/6  TRUTH 

activity  and  skill  that  a  little  prosperity  had  returned  to 
the  dismal  shop  in  the  Rue  du  Trou.  Customers  had  re- 
turned to  it,  and  Sarah,  retaining  the  connection  formed 
with  some  of  the  large  Paris  clothiers,  had  recruited  several 
work  girls  and  banded  them  together  in  a  kind  of  co-opera- 
tive group.  Madame  Lehmann  had  lately  died,  however, 
and  her  husband,  now  seventy-five  years  old,  lingered  on 
with  only  one  regret,  which  was  that  his  age  deprived  him 
of  all  hope  of  ever  witnessing  Simon's  rehabilitation.  Every 
year  he  spent  a  week  or  two  with  Simon,  David,  and  Rachel 
among  the  Pyrenees,  and  returned  home  well  pleased  to 
have  found  them  working  quietly  in  their  lonely  retreat, 
but  also  very  sad  when  he  realized  that  they  would  know 
no  real  happiness  as  long  as  the  monstrous  proceedings  of 
Rozan  should  remain  unrevised.  Sarah  had  tried  to  in- 
duce the  old  man  to  stay  with  the  others  in  the  south,  but 
he  obstinately  returned  to  the  Rue  du  Trou,  under  the 
pretence  of  making  himself  useful  there  by  superintending 
the  workroom.  And,  as  it  happened,  this  circumstance 
enabled  the  girl  to  take  an  occasional  holiday  when,  on  ac- 
companying her  brother  Joseph  to  Jonville,  she  chanced 
to  feel  somewhat  tired. 

The  reunion  of  the  young  people  at  Jonville,  the  days 
they  spent  there  so  gaily,  brought  about  the  long-foreseen 
marriages.  At  first  it  was  a  question  of  Sebastien  marrying 
Sarah,  which  surprised  nobody;  though  it  was  regarded  as 
an  indication  of  the  changing  times  that  young  Milhomme 
should  marry  Simon's  daughter  not  only  with  the  consent 
of  his  mother  but  also  with  the  approval  of  Madame 
Edouard,  his  aunt.  A  little  later,  when  the  wedding  was 
postponed  for  a  few  months  in  order  that  it  might  coincide 
with  that  of  Louise  and  Joseph,  a  little  excitement  arose  at 
Maillebois,  for  this  time  the  proposed  union  was  one  be- 
tween the  condemned  man's  son  and  the  daughter  of  his 
most  valiant  defender.  But  the  idyl  of  their  love,  which 
was  the  outcome  of  the  old  bitter  battle  and  all  the  heroism 
that  had  been  displayed  in  it,  touched  many  a  heart,  and 
even  tended  to  pacify  the  onlookers,  though  all  were  curious 
to  learn  how  Louise's  marriage  would  be  regarded  by  her 
great-grandmother,  Madame  Duparque,  who,  for  three 
years  past,  had  not  quitted  her  little  house  on  the  Place 
des  Capucins.  And,  indeed,  the  marriage  was  postponed 
for  another  month  in  order  that  Madame  Duparque  might 
come  to  some  decision  respecting  it. 


TRUTH  477 

Though  Louise  was  now  twenty  years  old,  she  had  not 
made  her  first  Communion,  and  it  had  been  settled  that  only 
the  civil  ceremony  should  be  performed  at  her  wedding 
with  Joseph,  as  at  that  of  Sebastien  with  Sarah.  Anxious 
as  she  was  for  an  interview  with  Madame  Duparque,  the 
girl  wrote  her  an  entreating  letter;  but  all  in  vain,  for  she 
did  not  even  receive  an  answer.  The  old  lady's  door  had 
not  been  opened  to  Genevieve  and  her  children  since  they 
had  returned  to  Marc.  For  nearly  five  years  now  the 
great-grandmother  had  clung  to  her  fierce  oath  that  she 
would  cast  off  all  her  relatives  and  live  cloistered,  alone 
with  God.  Genevieve,  touched  by  the  thought  of  that 
woman  of  fourscore  years  leading  in  solitude  a  life  of 
gloom  and  silence,  had  made  a  few  attempts  at  a  rapproche- 
ment, but  they  had  been  savagely,  obstinately  repulsed. 
Nevertheless,  Louise  desired  to  make  a  last  attempt,  dis- 
tressed as  she  was  at  not  having  the  approval  of  all  her 
kinsfolk  in  her  happiness. 

One  evening,  then,  at  sunset,  she  repaired  to  the  little 
house,  which  was  already  steeped  in  the  dimness  of  twilight. 
But,  to  her  astonishment,  on  pulling  the  bell-knob,  she 
heard  no  sound;  it  seemed  as  if  somebody  had  cut  the  wire. 
Gathering  courage,  she  then  ventured  to  knock,  at  first 
lightly,  and  then  loudly;  and  at  last  she  heard  a  slight 
noise,  the  board  of  a  little  judas  cut  in  the  door,  as  in  the 
door  of  a  convent,  having  been  pulled  aside. 

'Is  it  you,  Pelagic  ? '  Louise  inquired.  '  Is  it  you  ?  An- 
swer me! ' 

It  was  only  with  difficulty,  after  placing  her  ear  close  to 
the  judas,  that  she  at  last  heard  the  servant's  deadened  and 
almost  unrecognisable  voice:  'Go  away,  go  away,'  Pelagic 
answered;  '  madame  says  that  you  are  to  go  away  at  once!  ' 

'  Well,  no,  Pelagic,  I  won't  go  away,'  Louise  promptly  re- 
torted. '  Go  back  and  tell  grandmother  that  I  shall  not  leave 
the  door  until  she  has  come  and  answered  me  herself.' 

The  girl  remained  waiting  for  ten  minutes,  or  perhaps  a 
quarter  of  an  hour.  From  time  to  time  she  knocked  again 
— not  angrily,  but  with  respectful,  solicitous  persistence. 
And  all  at  once  the  judas  was  re-opened,  but  this  time  in 
a  tempestuous  fashion,  and  a  rough,  subterranean  voice 
called  to  her:  '  What  have  you  come  here  for  ? 
You  wrote  to  me  about  a  fresh  abomination,  a  marriage, 
the  very  shame  of  which  might  well  suffice  to  kill  me! 
What  is  the  use  of  speaking  of  it  ?  Are  you  even  fit  to 


4/8  TRUTH 

marry  ?  Have  you  made  your  first  Communion  ?  No,  eh  ? 
You  amused  yourself  with  me,  you  were  to  have  made  it 
when  you  were  twenty  years  old ;  but  to-day,  no  doubt,  you 
have  decided  that  you  will  never  do  so.  ...  So  it  is 
useless  for  you  to  come  here.  Be  off,  I  tell  you,  I  am  dead 
to  you ! ' 

Louise,  quite  upset,  shuddering  as  if  she  had  felt  an  icy 
breath  from  the  grave  sweeping  across  her  cheek,  had 
barely  time  to  cry :  '  Grandmother,  I  will  wait  a  little  longer; 
I  will  come  back  in  a  month's  time!  '  Then  the  judas  was 
shut  violently,  and  the  little  dim  and  silent  house  became 
quite  deathly  in  the  darkness,  which  had  now  gathered  all 
around. 

During  the  previous  five  years  Madame  Duparque  had 
gradually  relinquished  all  intercourse  with  the  world.  At 
first,  on  the  morrow  of  Madame  Berthereau's  death  and 
Genevieve's  departure,  she  had  contented  herself  with 
ceasing  to  receive  her  relations,  restricting  herself  to  the 
society  of  a  few  pious  friends  of  her  own  sex,  and  of  the 
priests  and  other  clerics  whom  she  had  made  her  familiars. 
Among  these  was  Abb£  Coquard,  who  had  succeeded  Abbe 
Quandieu  at  St.  Martin's.  He  was  a  rigid  man,  full  of  a 
sombre  faith,  and  it  delighted  Madame  Duparque  to  hear 
the  threats  which  he  addressed  to  the  wicked — threats  of 
hell  with  its  consuming  flames,  its  red  forks,  and  its  boiling 
oil.  Thus,  morning  and  evening  she  was  seen  repairing 
now  to  the  parish  church,  now  to  the  Capuchin  Chapel,  in 
order  to  attend  the  various  offices  and  ceremonies.  But 
as  time  went  by  she  went  out  less  and  less,  and  at  last  a 
day  came  when  she  ceased  to  cross  her  threshold.  It  was 
as  if  she  were  gradually  sinking  into  gloom  and  silence, 
burying  herself  by  slow  degrees.  One  day  even  the  shut- 
ters of  her  house,  which  had  still  been  opened  every  morning 
and  closed  at  night,  remained  closed,  the  facade  becoming 
blind,  as  it  were,  the  house  dead,  neither  a  glimmer  nor  a 
breath  of  life  emanating  from  it  any  more.  One  might  have 
thought  that  it  was  abandoned,  uninhabited,  if  sundry 
frocks  and  gowns  had  not  been  seen  slipping  through  the 
doorway  at  nightfall.  They  were  the  gowns  of  Abb6 
Coquard,  Father  Thdodose,  and  at  times — so  people  said — 
Father  Crabot,  who  thus  paid  the  old  lady  friendly  visits. 
Her  little  fortune,  now  a  matter  of  two  or  three  thousand 
francs  a  year,  which  she  had  arranged  to  leave,  one  half  to 
the  College  of  Valmarie,  the  other  to  the  Capuchin  Chapel, 


TRUTH  479 

hardly  sufficed  to  explain  the  fidelity  of  her  clerical  friends. 
Their  visits  must  also  have  been  due  in  part  to  her  exacting 
and  despotic  nature,  which  overcame  the  most  powerful, 
and  in  part  to  their  apprehensions  of  some  deed  of  mystical 
madness,  of  which  they  knew  her  to  be  capable.  It  was 
said,  too,  that  she  had  obtained  an  authorisation  to  hear 
Mass  and  take  the  Communion  at  home;  and  this,  no 
doubt,  explained  why  she  no  longer  set  foot  out  of  doors. 
By  the  force  of  her  piety  she  had  compelled  even  the  Deity 
to  come  to  her  house,  in  order  that  she  might  be  spared  the 
affliction  of  going  to  His;  for  the  idea  of  seeing  the  streets 
and  the  people  in  them,  of  again  setting  her  eyes  on  that 
abominable  age  in  which  Holy  Church  was  agonising,  had 
become  such  torture  to  her  that  she  had  caused  her  shutters 
to  be  nailed  in  position,  and  every  chink  in  the  woodwork 
to  be  stopped  up,  in  order  that  no  sound  or  gleam  of  the 
world  might  again  reach  her. 

This  was  the  supreme  crisis.  She  spent  her  days  in 
prayer.  She  was  not  content  with  having  broken  off  all 
intercourse  with  her  impious  and  accursed  relations,  she 
asked  herself  if  her  own  salvation  were  not  in  danger 
through  having  incurred,  perhaps,  some  responsibility  in 
the  damnation  of  her  kinsfolk.  She  was  haunted  by  a  re- 
collection of  Madame  Berthereau's  sacrilegious  revolt  on 
her  death-bed,  and  believed  that  unhappy  woman  to  be  not 
merely  in  purgatory,  but  in  hell.  Then,  too,  came  the 
thought  of  Genevieve,  whom  the  demon  had  assailed  so 
terribly,  and  who  had  gone  back  to  her  errors  like  a  dog  to 
his  vomit.  And,  finally,  there  was  Louise,  the  pagan,  the 
godless  creature,  who  had  rejected  even  the  gift  of  the 
Divine  Body  of  Jesus.  Those  two — Genevieve  and  Louise 
— belonged,  both  in  body  and  in  spirit,  to  the  devil;  and  if 
Madame  Duparque  caused  Masses  to  be  said  and  candles 
burnt  for  the  repose  of  her  dead  daughter's  soul,  she  had 
abandoned  those  who  still  lived  to  the  just  wrath  of  her 
God  of  anger  and  punishment.  But,  at  the  same  time,  her 
anguish  remained  extreme;  she  wondered  why  Heaven  had 
thus  stricken  her  in  her  posterity,  and  strove  to  interpret 
this  visitation  as  a  terrible  trial,  whence  her  own  holiness 
would  emerge  dazzling  and  triumphant.  The  confined, 
claustral  life  she  led,  entirely  devoted  to  religious  practices, 
seemed  to  her  to  be  necessary  reparation,  for  which  she 
would  be  rewarded  by  an  eternity  of  delight.  In  this  wise 
she  expiated  the  monstrous  sinfulness  of  her  descendants, 


480  TRUTH 

those  women  guilty  of  free  thought,  who,  in  three  genera- 
tions, had  escaped  from  the  Church  and  ended  madly  by 
putting  their  belief  in  a  religion  of  human  solidarity.  Thus, 
wishing  to  redeem  the  apostasy  of  her  grandchildren, 
Madame  Duparque  set  all  her  pride  in  humbling  herself, 
in  living  for  God  alone,  in  seeking  to  slay  what  little 
womanliness  still  lingered  in  her;  for  it  was  from  that 
womanliness  that  her  condemned  descendants  had  sprung. 

So  stern  and  sombre  was  her  ardour  that  she  wearied  the 
few  clerics  who  alone  now  linked  her  to  the  world.  She 
was  conscious  of  the  decline  of  the  Church ;  she  could  de- 
tect the  collapse  of  Catholicism  under  the  efforts  of  those 
diabolical  times  from  which  she  had  withdrawn  by  way  of 
protest  against  Satan's  victory — as  if,  indeed,  she  denied 
that  victory  by  not  beholding  it.  And  in  her  opinion  her 
renunciation,  her  fancied  martyrdom,  might  perhaps  im- 
part new  vigour  to  the  soldiers  of  religion.  She  would 
have  liked  to  have  seen  them  as  ardent,  as  resolute,  as  fierce 
as  she  herself  was,  encasing  themselves  in  the  rigidity  of 
dogmas,  carrying  fire  and  sword  into  the  midst  of  the  un- 
believers, and  aiding  the  great  Exterminator  to  conquer  His 
people  by  dint  of  thunderbolts.  She  never  felt  satisfied; 
she  found  Father  Crabot,  Father  Theodose,  even  the  sombre 
Abb£  Coquard,  altogether  too  lukewarm.  She  accused 
them  of  compounding  with  the  hateful  worldly  spirit  of  the 
times,  and  of  completing  the  ruin  of  the  Church  with  their 
own  hands  by  adapting  religion  to  the  tastes  of  the  day. 
She  dictated  their  duty  to  them,  preached  a  campaign  of 
frankness  and  violence,  unhinged  as  she  was,  thrown  into 
extreme  exaltation  by  her  lonely  life,  and  ever  athirst  with 
some  supreme  longings  in  spite  of  all  the  penitence  heaped 
upon  her. 

Father  Crabot  was  the  first  to  grow  tired  of  that  strange 
penitent,  who,  at  eighty-three  years  of  age,  treated  herself 
so  harshly,  and  bore  herself  like  a  despairing  prophetess, 
whose  uncompromising  Catholicism  was  really  a  condemn- 
ation of  the  long  efforts  made  by  his  own  Order  to  humanise 
the  terrible  Deity  of  the  stakes  and  the  massacres.  Thus 
the  Jesuit  allowed  long  intervals  to  elapse  between  his  dis- 
creet visits,  and,  finally,  he  altogether  ceased  to  call,  being 
of  opinion,  no  doubt,  that  the  legacy  he  had  hoped  to  re- 
ceive for  Valmarie  would  not  be  sufficient  compensation 
for  the  dangers  he  might  incur  with  a  woman  whose  soul 
was  ever  in  a  tempest.  A  few  months  later  Abb6  Coquard 


TRUTH  481 

likewise  withdrew,  not  because  he  had  any  cowardly  fears 
of  being  compromised,  but  because  each  of  his  discus- 
sions with  the  old  lady  degenerated  into  a  horrible  battle. 
Eager  and  despotic  like  herself,  the  Abbe"  was  bent  on 
retaining  all  his  power  and  authority  as  a  priest;  and  one 
day,  when  Madame  Duparque  began  to  thunder  in  the  name 
of  God,  reproaching  him  with  inaction,  in  such  wise  that 
he  appeared  to  be  a  mere  transgressing  sinner,  he  became 
quite  angry,  for  he  declined  to  accept  such  a  reversal  of 
their  respective  positions.  Then,  for  nearly  another  year, 
only  Father  The"odose's  frock  was  to  be  seen  slipping  into 
the  little,  silent,  closed  house  of  the  Place  des  Capucins. 

Father  The"odose,  no  doubt,  regarded  Madame  Dupar- 
que's  little  fortune  as  worth  taking,  for  the  times  were  hard 
with  poor  St.  Antony  of  Padua.  In  vain  did  the  Capuchin 
scatter  prospectuses  broadcast;  money  did  not  now  flow 
into  the  collection  boxes  as  it  had  done  in  the  happy  days 
when,  by  a  stroke  of  genius,  he  had  induced  Monseigneur 
Bergerot  to  bless  one  of  the  saint's  bones.  In  those  days 
the  miracle  lottery  had  put  people  into  quite  a  fever;  the 
sick,  the  idle,  and  the  poor  had  all  dreamt  of  winning  hap- 
piness from  heaven  in  return  for  an  investment  of  twenty 
sous;  whereas,  now  that  a  little  sense  and  truth  were 
spreading  through  the  district,  thanks  to  the  secular 
schools,  the  base  commerce  of  the  Capuchin  Chapel  stood 
revealed  in  all  its  shameful  imbecility. 

For  a  time,  it  is  true,  another  stroke  of  genius  on  the 
part  of  Father  The"odose,  the  creation  of  some  wonderful 
mortgage  bonds  on  heaven,  had  again  stirred  the  souls  of 
the  humble  and  the  suffering,  who,  as  life  below  proved  so 
cruel  to  them,  hungered  for  felicity  beyond  the  grave. 
Then,  during  several  months,  the  money  of  dupes  had 
flowed  in;  all  the  savings  hidden  in  old  stockings  had  been 
brought  forth  by  believers  anxious  to  secure  the  chance  of 
a  little  peace  in  the  Unknown.  Hut  finally,  being  con- 
fronted by  growing  incredulity,  Father  The"odose  had  found 
it  difficult  to  place  his  remaining  bonds,  and  had  thereupon 
planned  a  third  stroke  of  genius — this  time  the  invention  of 
some  private,  reserved  gardens  in  the  ever- flowery  Fields  of 
the  Blessed.  According  to  him  there  were  to  be  some  de- 
lightful little  nooks  in  Eternity,  garnished  with  roses  and 
lilies  of  the  very  best  varieties,  under  foliage  set  out  to 
please  the  eyes,  and  near  springs  which  would  be  particu- 
larly pure  and  fresh.  And  thanks  once  more  to  the  decisive 


482  TRUTH 

intervention  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  one  might  book  those 
little  nooks  in  advance,  thereby  ensuring  to  oneself  the 
eternal  enjoyment  of  them.  Naturally,  the  booking  was 
very  expensive  if  one  desired  something  spacious  and  com- 
fortable, though  there  were  indeed  gardens  at  all  prices, 
which  varied  in  accordance  with  site,  charm,  and  proximity 
to  the  abodes  of  the  angels.  Two  old  ladies,  it  appeared, 
had  already  bequeathed  their  fortunes  to  the  Capuchins  in 
order  that  the  miracle-working  saint  might  reserve  for  them 
two  of  the  best  gardens  that  were  still  vacant,  one  being  in 
the  style  of  an  old  French  park,  whereas  the  other  was 
more  of  the  '  romantic  '  type,  with  a  maze  and  a  waterfall. 
And  it  was  also  said  that  Madame  Duparque  had  in  a  like 
way  made  her  choice,  this  being  a  golden  grotto  on  the 
slope  of  an  azure  mount,  among  clumps  of  myrtle  bushes 
and  oleanders. 

Father  Theodose,  then,  alone  continued  to  visit  the  old 
lady,  putting  up  with  her  fits  of  temper,  and  returning  to 
the  house  even  after  she  had  driven  him  from  it  in  exaspera- 
tion at  finding  him  so  lukewarm  and  resigned  to  the  triumph 
of  the  Church's  enemies.  And  the  Capuchin  had  actually 
ended  by  securing  a  latch-key  in  order  that  he  might  enter 
the  house  whenever  he  pleased,  instead  of  having  to  ring 
the  bell  again  and  again,  for  poor  Pelagic  had  become  ex- 
tremely deaf.  It  was  also  at  this  same  moment  that  the  two 
women,  the  two  recluses  as  they  may  be  called,  cut  the  bell 
wire;  for  of  what  use  was  it  to  retain  that  connecting  link 
with  the  outer  world  ?  The  only  living  being  whom  they 
now  received  had  a  key  to  admit  himself,  and  by  cutting 
the  wire  they  were  spared  the  nervous  starts  that  came  upon 
them  whenever  they  heard  that  jangling  bell  which  they 
did  not  wish  to  answer.  Pelagic,  indeed,  had  become  as 
fierce  and  as  maniacal  as  her  mistress.  She  had  begun  by 
curtailing  her  chats  in  the  tradespeople's  shops,  scarcely 
speaking  to  anybody  when  she  went  out,  but  gliding  swiftly 
past  the  houses  like  a  shadow.  Next,  she  had  decided  to 
go  shopping  twice  a  week  only,  in  this  wise  condemning 
her  mistress  and  herself  to  live  on  stale  bread  and  a  few 
vegetables — such  fare  as  might  have  suited  a  pair  of  hermits 
in  the  desert.  And  now  the  few  tradespeople  came  them- 
selves to  the  house  at  nightfall  on  Saturday  evenings,  and 
left  their  goods  at  the  doorway  in  a  basket,  which  they 
found  waiting  for  them  on  the  ensuing  Saturday,  with  the 
money  due  to  them  wrapped  in  a  scrap  of  newspaper. 


TRUTH  483 

At  the  same  time  Pelagic  had  one  great  worry  —  her 
nephew  Polydor,  who  had  entered  a  Beaumont  monastery 
in  a  menial  capacity,  and  who  came  and  made  frightful 
scenes  with  her  whenever  he  wished  to  extort  money.  He 
alarmed  the  old  woman  to  such  a  degree  that  she  did  not 
even  dare  to  leave  him  at  the  door,  for  she  felt  sure  that  on 
some  pretext  or  other  he  would  collect  a  crowd  and  force 
his  way  in.  And  when  she  had  admitted  him,  she  trembled 
still  more;  for  she  knew  that  he  was  a  man  to  deal  her  a 
nasty  blow  should  she  refuse  to  give  him  a  ten-franc  piece. 
For  many  long  years  she  had  caressed  the  dream  of  employ- 
ing all  her  savings — some  ten  thousand  francs,  scraped  to- 
gether copper  by  copper — to  procure  some  happiness  in  the 
other  world;  and  if  the  little  treasure  was  still  carefully 
hidden  away  inside  her  palliasse,  this  was  because  she  hesi- 
tated as  to  the  best,  the  most  efficacious  mode  of  invest- 
ment. Should  she  found  a  perpetual  Mass  for  the  repose 
of  her  soul,  or  should  she  book  one  of  Father  Th^odose's 
reserved  gardens,  a  modest  little  nook  in  heaven,  by  the 
side  of  her  mistress's  lordly  grotto  ?  And  she  was  still  hesi- 
tating in  this  respect  when  misfortune  fell  upon  her. 

One  night,  when  she  had  been  obliged  to  admit  Polydor, 
the  rascal  did  not  murder  her,  but  rushed  in  turn  upon 
every  article  of  furniture  in  her  garret,  finally  ripping  up  the 
palliasse  and  fleeing  with  the  ten  thousand  francs,  while 
Pelagic,  whom  he  had  thrust  aside  and  who  had  fallen  be- 
side the  bed,  groaned  with  despair  at  seeing  that  bandit — 
who  was  of  her  own  flesh  and  blood — make  off  with  the 
blessed  money  which  St.  Antony  of  Padua  was  to  have 
given  her  back  in  eternal  delight.  Would  she  be  damned, 
then,  as  she  no  longer  possessed  the  wherewithal  to  specu- 
late in  the  miraculous  lottery  ?  Such  was  the  shock  the  old 
woman  experienced  that  two  days  later  she  died;  and  it  was 
Father  Theodose  who  found  her,  already  stark  and  cold, 
in  her  bare  and  dirty  garret,  to  which  he  climbed  in  his 
surprise  and  anxiety  at  discovering  her  nowhere  else.  He 
was  obliged  to  attend  to  everything — declare  the  death, 
make  arrangements  for  the  funeral,  and  busy  himself  as  to 
how  the  last  remaining  inmate  of  the  little  house  would  live 
now  that  she  had  nobody  left  to  serve  her. 

For  several  weeks  past  Madame  Duparque,  whose  legs 
had  become  too  feeble  to  support  her  weight,  had  taken  to 
her  bed,  in  which,  however,  she  remained  in  a  sitting 
posture,  erect  and  tall,  though  withered.  Little  breath  was 


484  TRUTH 

left  her,  yet  she  still  seemed  to  reign  despotically  over  that 
silent,  dark,  and  empty  house,  whence  she  had  driven  all 
her  kith  and  kin,  and  where  the  only  creature,  the  domestic 
animal,  whom  she  had  been  willing  to  tolerate,  had  just 
died.  When  Father  Theodose,  on  returning  from  Pelagie's 
funeral,  tried  to  ascertain  Madame  Duparque's  intentions 
with  respect  to  her  future  mode  of  life,  he  could  not  even 
extract  an  answer  from  her.  Greatly  embarrassed,  he  in- 
sisted, and  offered  to  send  her  a  sister,  pointing  out  that  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  attend  to  any  household  duties  as 
she  could  not  even  leave  her  bed.  But  she  at  once  flew 
into  a  temper,  growled  like  some  mighty  animal  stricken 
unto  death  and  unwilling  to  be  disturbed  in  its  final  hour. 
Vague  charges  gurgled  in  her  throat ;  they  were  all  cowards, 
all  traitors  to  their  God,  all  egotists  who  abandoned  the 
Church  in  order  that  the  vaults  might  not  fall  upon  their 
heads!  Thereupon  Father  Theodose,  in  his  turn  growing 
exasperated,  left  her,  deciding  that  he  would  return  the 
following  morning  to  see  if  she  had  become  more  reason- 
able. 

A  night  and  a  day  elapsed,  for  the  Superior  of  the  Capu- 
chins was  only  able  to  return  at  dusk,  four  and  twenty  hours 
later.  During  that  night  and  day,  then,  Madame  Duparque 
remained  alone,  absolutely  alone,  behind  the  nailed  shutters, 
the  carefully  closed  doors  and  windows  of  her  dark  room, 
where  neither  a  sound  nor  a  ray  of  light  from  the  outer 
world  penetrated.  She  herself  had  willed  it  thus,  severing 
all  carnal  ties  with  her  relations,  withdrawing  from  the 
world  in  protest  against  the  hateful  society  of  the  times  in 
which  sin  had  proved  triumphant.  And,  after  giving  her- 
self wholly  to  the  Church,  she  had  gradually  become  dis- 
gusted with  its  ministers  —  those  priests  who  lacked  all 
militant  faith,  those  monks  who  had  no  heroic  bravery,  but 
who  were  all  worldly  men  bent  on  personal  enjoyment. 
Thus  she  had  dismissed  them  also,  and  now  she  remained 
alone  with  her  Deity — an  implacable  and  stubborn  Deity, 
who  ruled  with  absolute,  exterminating,  and  vengeful  power. 
All  light  and  all  life  had  departed  from  that  cold,  dismal, 
fast-closed,  and  tomb-like  house,  where  there  only  remained 
a  feeble  octogenarian  woman,  sitting  up  in  bed,  gazing  into 
the  black  darkness,  and  waiting  for  her  jealous  God  to  carry 
her  away,  in  order  that  lukewarm  souls  might  have  an  ex- 
ample of  a  really  pious  end.  And  when  Father  Theodose 
presented  himself  at  the  house  at  dusk  he  found,  to  his  in- 


TRUTH  485 

tense  surprise,  that  the  door  would  not  open,  that  it  resisted 
all  his  efforts.  The  key  turned  readily  enough  in  the  lock, 
and  it  seemed,  therefore,  that  the  door  must  have  been 
bolted.  But  who  could  have  bolted  it  ?  There  was  nobody 
inside  except  the  ailing  woman,  who  could  not  leave  her 
bed.  The  Capuchin  then  made  fresh  attempts,  but  in  vain ; 
and  at  last,  feeling  frightened,  unwilling  to  incur  any  further 
responsibility,  he  hastened  to  the  Town  Hall  to  explain  the 
matter  to  the  authorities.  A  messenger  was  at  once  sent 
to  Mademoiselle  Mazeline's  for  Louise;  and,  as  it  hap- 
pened, Marc  and  Genevieve  were  there,  having  come  over 
from  Jonville  as  the  news  of  Pelagie's  death  had  made 
them  feel  anxious. 

A  tragical  business  followed.  The  whole  family  repaired 
to  the  Place  des  Capucins.  As  the  door  would  not  yield,  a 
locksmith  was  sent  for,  but  he  declared  he  could  do  nothing, 
for  assuredly  the  bolts  were  fastened.  It  therefore  became 
necessary  to  send  for  a  mason,  who,  with  his  pick,  unsealed 
the  door  hinges  set  in  the  stone  work.  At  each  blow  the 
silent  house  re-echoed  like  a  closed  vault.  And  when  the 
door  had  been  torn  down  it  was  with  a  quiver  that  Marc 
and  Genevieve,  followed  by  Louise,  re-entered  that  family 
abode  whence  they  had  been  banished.  An  icy  dampness 
reigned  there;  it  was  only  with  difficulty  that  they  managed 
to  light  a  candle.  And  upstairs,  in  the  bed,  they  found 
Madame  Duparque,  still  in  a  sitting  posture,  propped  up  by 
pillows,  but  quite  dead,  with  a  large  crucifix  between  her 
long,  thin,  shrivelled  hands. 

In  a  superhuman  effort  she  had  assuredly  found  the 
supreme  energy  to  leave  her  bed,  crawl  down  the  stairs, 
and  shoot  the  bolts  in  order  that  no  living  soul,  not  even  a 
priest,  might  disturb  her  in  her  last  communion  with  God. 
And  then  she  had  crawled  upstairs  again,  and  had  died 
there.  When  Father  Theodose  saw  her  he -fell  on  his  knees, 
shuddering,  and  stammering  a  prayer.  He  was  distraught, 
for  he  detected  in  that  death  not  merely  the  end  of  a  ter- 
rible old  woman,  raised  to  a  fierce  grandeur,  as  it  were,  by 
her  uncompromising  faith,  but  also  the  end  of  all  super- 
stitious and  mendacious  religion.  And  Marc,  in  whose 
arms  Genevieve  and  Louise  had  sought  a  refuge,  seemed  to 
feel  a  great  gust  sweeping  by,  as  though  eternal  life  were 
springing  from  that  death. 

When  the  family,  after  leaving  the  funeral  arrangements 
to  Abbe"  Coquard,  made  a  search  in  the  old  lady's  drawers, 


486  TRUTH 

they  found  nothing — neither  will  nor  securities  of  any  kind. 
It  could  not  be  said  that  Father  The"odose  had  purloined 
any  property,  for  he  had  not  returned  to  the  house.  Was 
it  to  be  assumed,  then,  that  the  old  lady  had  previously 
handed  her  securities  to  him  or  to  another  ?  Or  had  she 
destroyed  them,  unwilling  that  her  relatives  should  bene- 
fit by  her  fortune  ?  The  mystery  was  never  solved,  not  a 
copper  was  ever  found.  Only  the  little  house  remained, 
and  it  was  sold,  the  proceeds  being  given  to  the  poor  at  the 
request  of  Genevieve,  who  said  that  in  taking  that  course 
she  was  certainly  doing  what  her  grandmother  would  have 
desired. 

In  the  evening,  after  returning  from  the  funeral,  Gene- 
vieve cast  her  arms  round  her  husband's  neck,  and  made 
him  a  frank  confession:  '  If  you  only  knew!  '  said  she.  '  I 
was  beset  again  when  I  heard  that  grandmother  was  all 
alone,  so  bravely  and  loftily  adhering  to  her  stubborn  faith. 
.  Yes,  I  asked  myself  if  my  place  were  not  beside 
her,  and  if  I  had  done  right  in  leaving  her.  .  .  .  But 
what  can  you  expect,  dear  ?  I  shall  never  be  quite  cured. 
In  the  depths  of  my  being  I  shall  always  retain  a  little  of 
my  old  belief.  .  .  .  Yet,  what  a  frightful  death  that 
was!  And  how  right  you  are  in  asking  that  people  should 
live  as  they  ought  to;  that  women  should  be  liberated,  set 
in  their  right  position  as  the  equals  and  companions  of  men, 
and  that  life  should  partake  of  all  that  is  good  and  true  and 
just! ' 

A  month  later  the  two  long-deferred  weddings  at  last  took 
place.  Louise  was  married  to  Joseph,  Sarah  to  Sebastien; 
and  in  those  espousals  Marc  perceived  a  beginning  of  vic- 
tory. The  good  crop,  sown  with  so  much  difficulty  in  the 
midst  of  persecution  and  outrage,  was  germinating  and 
growing  already. 


II 


YEARS  went  by,  and  Marc  continued  his  work,  sturdy 
yet  at  sixty  years  of  age,  and  as  passionately  attached 
to  truth  and  justice  as  he  had  been  at  the  outset  of 
the  great  struggle.  And  one  day,  when  he  happened  to  go 
to  Beaumont  to  call  on  Delbos,  the  latter  suddenly  said  to 
him:  'By  the  way,  my  dear  fellow,  I  have  had  a  strange 
encounter.  .  .  .  The  other  evening,  at  dusk,  while  I 
was  returning  home  I  noticed  a  man  of  about  your  age, 
looking  wretched  and  ravaged,  walking  ahead  of  me  along 
the  Avenue  des  Jaffres.  .  .  .  And,  all  at  once,  in  the 
blaze  of  light  coming  from  the  confectioner's  shop  at  the 
corner  of  the  Rue  Gambetta,  it  seemed  to  me  that  I  recog- 
nised our  Gorgias. ' 

'  Eh,  our  Gorgias  ? ' 

'  Why,  yes,  Brother  Gorgias,  not  wearing  an  Ignorantine's 
cassock,  but  a  greasy  frock-coat,  and  slipping  alongside  the 
walls,  with  the  suspicious  gait  of  an  emaciated  old  wolf. 
He  must  have  come  back  secretly,  and  must  be 
living. in  some  dark  nook  or  other,  still  trying  to  frighten 
and  exploit  his  old  accomplices.' 

Marc,  whom  the  announcement  had  greatly  surprised, 
remained  full  of  doubt.  '  You  must  have  been  mistaken,' 
said  he;  'Gorgias  attaches  too  much  value  to  his  skin  to 
return  to  Beaumont  and  run  the  risk  of  being  sent  to  the 
galleys — that  is  whenever  the  discovery  of  a  new  fact  may 
enable  us  to  apply  for  the  quashing  of  the  Rozan  judgment.' 

'  It  is  you  who  are  mistaken,  my  friend,'  Delbos  answered. 
'  Our  man  has  nothing  more  to  fear.  According  to  our  law 
of  limitation  there  can  be  no  public  action  in  a  criminal 
matter  after  the  expiration  of  ten  years,  and  so,  even  nowa- 
days, little  Zephirin's  murderer  can  walk  the  streets  in  the 
daylight  without  any  fear  of  arrest.  .  .  .  However,  I 
may  have  been  deceived  by  a  mere  resemblance;  and  in 
any  case  the  return  of  Gorgias  can  have  no  interest  for  us, 
for  you  agree  with  me,  do  you  not,  that  we  can  derive 
nothing  useful  from  him  ? ' 

487 


488  TRUTH 

1  No,  nothing  whatever.  He  lied  so  much  at  the  time 
of  the  affair  that  if  he  should  say  anything  now  he  would 
certainly  lie  again.  .  .  .  The  long-sought  truth  can 
never  come  to  us  from  him. ' 

In  this  wise,  at  long  intervals,  Marc  called  upon  Delbos 
in  order  to  chat  with  him  about  that  everlasting  Simon 
case,  which,  after  the  lapse  of  so  many  years,  still  remained 
like  a  cancer  gnawing  at  the  heart  of  the  country.  People 
might  deny  its  existence,  believe  it  to  be  dead,  cease  to 
speak  of  it,  but  nevertheless  it  still  stealthily  prosecuted 
its  ravages,  like  some  secret  venom  poisoning  life.  Twice 
a  year  David  quitted  his  lonely  retreat  in  the  Pyrenees 
and  came  to  Beaumont  in  order  to  confer  with  Delbos  and 
Marc;  for,  in  spite  of  the  pardon  granted  to  his  brother, 
he  had  not  for  an  hour  relinquished  his  hope  of  eventual 
acquittal  and  rehabilitation  They,  David,  Delbos,  and 
Marc,  were  convinced  that  the  monstrous  verdict  would  be 
some  day  set  aside,  and  that  the  affair  would  end  by  the 
victory  of  the  innocent.  But,  even  as  in  previous  years, 
after  the  judgment  of  the  Court  of  Cassation,  they  found 
themselves  struggling  amidst  an  intricate  network  of  false- 
hoods. After  hesitating  for  a  time  as  to  which  scent  they 
might  best  follow,  they  had  decided  to  investigate  a  second 
crime  committed  by  ex-President  Gragnon,  a  crime  which 
they  had  already  suspected  at  Rozan,  and  of  which  they 
were  now  convinced. 

Gragnon,  at  the  time  of  the  Rozan  proceedings,  had  re- 
peated his  illegal  communication  trick.  On  this  second 
occasion,  however,  he  had  availed  himself,  not  of  one  of 
Simon's  letters  with  a  forged  postscript  and  paraph,  but  of 
a  confession  alleged  to  have  been  written  by  the  workman 
who  was  said  to  have  made  a  false  stamp  for  the  Maillebois 
schoolmaster — this  confession  having  been  handed,  it  was 
alleged,  to  one  of  the  nuns  of  the  Beaumont  hospital  by  the 
workman  in  question  when  he  was  near  his  death.  As- 
suredly Gragnon  had  walked  about  Beaumont  with  that 
confession  in  his  pocket,  speaking  of  it  as  a  thunderbolt 
which  he  would  hurl  at  the  Simonists  if  they  drove  him  to 
extremities,  showing  it  also,  or  causing  it  to  be  shown,  to 
certain  members  of  the  jury,  those  who  were  pious  and 
weak-minded,  but  at  the  same  time  affecting  a  keen  desire 
to  save  the  holy  nun  to  whom  the  confession  had  been 
given  from  being  publicly  mixed  up  in  such  a  scandal.  And 
this  explained  everything.  The  abominable  behaviour  of 


TRUTH  489 

the  jury  in  reconvicting  the  innocent  prisoner  became  ex- 
cusable. Those  men  of  average  intelligence  and  honesty 
had  been  deceived  like  the  jurors  of  Beaumont,  and  had 
yielded  to  motives  which  had  remained  secret.  Marc  and 
David  well  remembered  that  they  had  heard  some  juryman 
ask  certain  questions  which  had  then  seemed  to  them 
ridiculous.  But  they  now  understood  that  this  juryman 
had  referred  to  the  terrible  document  which  Gragnon  had 
stealthily  hawked  about,  and  of  which  it  was  not  prudent  to 
speak  plainly.  Delbos  therefore  busied  himself  with  that 
new  fact,  that  second  criminal  communication,  which,  if 
proved,  would  entail  the  immediate  annulment  of  the  pro- 
ceedings at  Rozan.  But,  unfortunately,  nothing  could  be 
more  difficult  to  prove,  and  for  years  Delbos  and  his  friends 
had  striven  vainly.  Only  one  hope  remained  to  them:  a 
juror,  a  retired  medical  man,  named  Beauchamp,  had 
acquired  a  certainty  that  the  workman's  alleged  confession 
was  simply  a  gross  forgery.  In  a  measure  things  repeated 
themselves,  as  is  not  infrequently  the  case  in  real  life, 
Beauchamp  being  assailed  by  remorse  like  his  predecessor, 
architect  Jacquin.  He  himself,  it  is  true,  was  not  a  clerical, 
but  he  had  an  extremely  devout  wife  and  did  not  wish  to 
plunge  her  into  desolation  by  relieving  his  conscience. 
Thus  it  was  necessary  to  wait.1 

However,  as  the  years  went  by,  circumstances  became 
more  favourable.  Thanks  to  the  spread  of  secular  educa- 
tion the  social  evolution  was  being  hastened  and  giving 
great  results.  All  France  was  being  renewed,  a  new  nation 
was  coming  from  its  thousands  of  parish  schools,  whose  in- 
fluence was  to  be  found  beneath  each  fresh  reform  that  was 
effected,  each  fresh  step  that  was  taken  toward  solidarity 
and  peace.  Things  which  had  seemed  impossible  in  former 
times  were  easily  accomplished  now  that  the  nation  was  de- 
livered from  error  and  falsehood,  endowed  with  knowledge 
and  force  of  will. 

Thus,  at  the  general  elections  which  took  place  in  May 

1  It  may  be  held  that  M.  Zola  has  perpetrated  an  artistic  blunder  by 
introducing  into  his  narrative  a  repetition,  so  to  say,  of  the  Jacquin  epi- 
sode ;  but  it  should  be  remembered  that  the  Simon  affair  is  based  on 
the  Dreyfus  case,  in  which  there  were  several  repetitions  of  that  char- 
acter. Among  those  who  sat  in  judgment  on  Dreyfus,  Ksterhazy,  and 
I'icquart,  there  were  repeated  instances  of  belated  conscientious  scruples, 
some  indeed  known  to  the  initiated  but  never  made  public.  Thus,  if 
M.  Zola  is  inartistic  in  making  two  characters  of  his  story  adopt  virtually 
the  same  course,  he  is  at  least  true  to  life. —  Trans. 


490  TRUTH 

that  year,  Delbos  at  last  defeated  Lemarrois,  who  had  been 
Mayor  of  Beaumont  for  so  long  a  period.  At  one  time  it 
had  seemed  as  if  the  latter  would  never  lose  his  seat,  per- 
sonifying as  he  did  the  great  mass  of  average  public  opinion. 
But  the  bourgeoisie  had  denied  its  revolutionary  past,  and 
allied  itself  with  the  Church  in  order  that  it  might  not  have 
to  abandon  any  of  its  usurped  power.  It  clung  to  the  privi- 
leges it  had  acquired,  and,  rather  than  share  its  royalty  or 
its  wealth  with  the  masses,  it  preferred  to  make  use  of  all 
the  old  reactionary  forces  in  order  to  thrust  the  now  awak- 
ened and  enlightened  people  into  servitude  once  more. 
Lemarrois  was  a  typical  example  of  the  bourgeois  Republi- 
can, who,  wishing  to  defend  his  class,  sank  into  a  kind  of 
involuntary  reaction,  and  was  therefore  condemned  and 
swept  away  in  the  inevitable  ctebdcle  of  that  bourgeoisie  which 
a  hundred  years  of  trafficking  and  enjoyment  had  sufficed 
to  rot.  It  was  inevitable  that  the  people  should  ascend  to 
power  as  soon  as  it  became  conscious  of  its  strength,  of  the 
inexhaustible  reserve  of  energy,  intelligence,  and  will  slum- 
bering within  it;  and  it  was  sufficient  that  it  should  be 
emancipated,  roused  from  the  heavy  sleep  of  ignorance  by 
the  schools  in  order  that  it  might  take  its  due  place  and  re- 
juvenate the  nation.  The  bourgeoisie  was  now  at  the  point 
of  death,  and  the  people  would  necessarily  become  the  great 
liberating,  justice-dealing  France  of  to-morrow.  And  there 
was,  so  to  say,  an  annunciation  of  all  those  things  in  the 
victory  achieved  at  Beaumont  by  Delbos,  the  man  who  had 
been  Simon's  counsel,  who  had  been  denied  and  insulted 
so  long,  at  first  securing  only  a  few  Socialist  votes,  which  by 
degrees  had  become  an  overwhelming  majority. 

Another  proof  of  the  people's  accession  to  power  was  to  be 
found  in  the  complete  change  which  had  come  over  Marcilly. 
He  had  formerly  figured  in  a  Radical  ministry;  then,  after  the 
reconviction  of  Simon,  he  had  entered  a  Moderate  adminis- 
tration; and  now  he  affected  extreme  Socialist  principles; 
and,  by  harnessing  himself  to  Delbos's  triumphal  car,  had 
managed  to  get  re-elected.  It  is  true  that  the  popular  vic- 
tory was  not  complete  throughout  the  department,  for  Count 
Hector  de  Sanglebceuf  had  also  been  re-elected,  this  time 
as  an  uncompromising  reactionary;  for  the  usual  phenome- 
non of  troublous  times  had  appeared,  only  plain,  frank,  ex- 
treme opinions  finding  support.  The  party  vanquished  for 
ever  was  the  old  Liberal  bourgeoisie,  which  had  become 
Conservative  from  egotism  and  fright,  and  which,  lacking 


TRUTH  491 

all  strength  and  logic,  was  ripe  for  its  fall.  And  the  ascend- 
ing class,  the  great  mass  of  those  who  only  the  day  before 
had  been  called  the  disinherited,  would  naturally  take  the 
place  of  the  bourgeoisie  after  sweeping  away  the  few  stub- 
born defenders  that  remained  to  the  Church. 

But  the  election  of  Delbos  was  particularly  notable  as  be- 
ing the  first  great  success  achieved  by  one  of  those  rascals 
without  God  or  country,  one  of  those  traitors  who  had  pub- 
licly declared  Simon  to  be  innocent.  After  the  monstrous 
proceedings  of  Rozan  all  the  notable  Simonists  had  suffered 
in  their  persons  or  their  pockets  for  having  dared  to  desire 
truth  and  justice.  Insult,  persecution,  summary  dismissal 
had  been  heaped  upon  them.  There  was  Delbos,  to  whom 
no  client  had  dared  to  confide  his  interests;  there  was  Sal- 
van  dismissed,  compulsorily  retired;  there  was  Marc  dis- 
graced, sent  to  a  little  village;  and  behind  the  leaders  how 
many  others  there  were,  relations  and  friends,  who  for 
merely  behaving  in  an  upright  manner  were  assailed  with 
worries,  and  at  times  even  ruined! 

Full  of  mute  grief  at  the  sight  of  such  aberration,  well 
understanding  that  all  rebellion  was  useless,  the  friends  of 
truth  had  simply  turned  to  their  work,  awaiting  the  inevitable 
hour  when  reason  and  equity  would  triumph.  And  that 
hour  seemed  to  be  approaching;  for  now  Delbos,  one  of  the 
most  deeply  involved  in  the  affair,  had  defeated  Lemarrois, 
who  had  long  pursued  a  pusillanimous  policy,  refusing  to 
take  sides  either  for  or  against  Simon.  Was  not  this  a  proof 
that  opinion  had  changed,  that  a  great  advance  had  been 
effected?  Moreover,  Salvan  secured  consolation,  for  one 
of  his  old  pupils  was  appointed  to  the  directorship  of  the 
Training  College  after  Mauraisin  had  been  virtually  dis- 
missed for  incapacity.  Great  was  the  delight  of  the  sage 
when  those  tidings  reached  him,  not  because  it  pleased  him 
to  crow  over  his  vanquished  adversary,  but  because  he  at 
last  saw  the  continuation  of  his  work  entrusted  to  one  who 
was  brave  and  faithful.  And,  finally,  a  day  came  when  Le 
Barazer,  who  now  felt  strong  enough  to  repair  former  in- 
justice, sent  for  Marc  and  offered  him  the  head  mastership 
of  a  school  at  Beaumont.  Such  an  offer,  on  the  part  of  that 
prudent  diplomatist,  the  Academy  Inspector,  was  extremely 
significant,  and  Marc  was  pleased  indeed;  nevertheless  he 
declined  it,  for  he  did  not  wish  to  leave  Jonville,  where  his 
task  was  not  yet  finished. 

There  were   also   other   precursory   signs   of   the   great 


492  TRUTH 

impending  change  in  the  country.  Prefect  Hennebise  had 
been  replaced  by  a  very  energetic  and  sensible  functionary 
who  had  immediately  demanded  the  revocation  of  Depin- 
villiers,  under  whose  management  the  Lycee  of  Beaumont 
had  become  a  kind  of  seminary.  Rector  Forbes  had  been 
compelled  to  rouse  himself  from  the  study  of  ancient  his- 
tory, in  order  to  dismiss  the  chaplains,  rid  the  classrooms 
of  the  religious  emblems  placed  in  them,  and  secularise 
secondary  as  well  as  elementary  education.  Then  General 
Jarousse,  having  been  placed  on  the  retired  list,  had  de- 
cided to  quit  Beaumont;  for,  though  his  wife  owned  a  house 
there,  he  was  exasperated  with  the  new  spirit  which  reigned 
in  the  town,  and  did  not  wish  to  come  into  contact  with  his 
successor,  a  Republican  general,  whom  some  people  even 
declared  to  be  a  Socialist.  Moreover,  ex-investigating 
Magistrate  Daix  had  met  a  wretched  death,  haunted  as  he 
was  by  spectres,  in  spite  of  his  belated  confession  at  Rozan ; 
while  the  former  Procureur  de  la  Republique,  Raoul  de  La 
Bissonniere,  after  having  a  fine  career  in  Paris,  seemed 
likely  to  come  to  grief  there  amidst  the  collapse  of  a  colossal 
swindle '  which  he  had  in  some  way  befriended.  And,  as  a 
last  and  excellent  symptom  of  the  times,  nobody  now  saluted 
Gragnon,  the  ex-presiding  judge,  when,  thin  and  yellow,  he 
anxiously  threaded  the  Avenue  des  Jaffres,  hanging  his  head 
but  glancing  nervously  to  right  and  left  as  if  he  feared  that 
somebody  might  spit  upon  him  as  he  passed. 

The  happy  effects  of  free  and  secular  education,  which 
brought  light  and  health  in  its  train,  were  also  manifest  at 
Maillebois,  whither  Marc  often  repaired  to  see  his  daughter 
Louise,  who,  with  Joseph  her  husband,  lived  in  the  little 
lodging  which  Mignot  had  so  long  occupied  at  the  Com- 
munal school.  Maillebois,  indeed,  was  no  longer  that  in- 
tensely clerical  little  town,  where  the  Congregations  had 
succeeded  in  raising  their  creature  Philis  to  the  mayoralty. 
In  former  times  the  eight  hundred  working  men  of  thefau- 
bourg,  being  divided  among  themselves,  could  return  only 
a  few  Republicans  to  the  Municipal  Council,  in  which  they 
were  reduced  to  inaction.  But  at  the  recent  elections  the 
whole  Republican  and  Socialist  list  had  passed,  by  a  large 
majority,  in  such  wise  that  Darras,  defeating  his  rival  Philis, 
had  now  again  become  Mayor.  And  his  delight  at  return- 
ing to  that  office,  whence  the  priests  had  driven  him,  was 

1  All  newspaper  readers  know  that  various  judicial  personages  have 
been  compromised  in  recent  French  swindles. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  493 

the  keener  as  he  was  now  supported  by  a  compact  majority 
which  would  enable  him  to  act  frankly  instead  of  being  con- 
tinually reduced  to  compromises. 

Marc  met  Darras  one  day  and  found  him  quite  radiant. 
'Yes,  I  remember,'  said  he,  'you  did  not  think  me  very 
brave  in  former  times.  That  poor  Simon!  I  was  con- 
vinced of  his  innocence,  yet  I  refused  to  act  when  you 
came  to  me  at  the  municipal  offices.  But  how  could  I  help 
it?  I  had  a  bare  majority  of  two,  the  council  constantly 
escaped  my  control,  and  the  proof  is  that  it  ended  by  over- 
throwing me.  .  .  .  Ah!  if  I  had  then  only  had  the  ma- 
jority we  now  possess!  We  are  the  masters  at  last,  and 
things  will  move  quickly,  I  promise  you.' 

Marc  smiled  and  asked  him  what  had  become  of  Philis, 
his  defeated  adversary. 

'  Philis — oh !  he  has  been  greatly  tried.  A  certain  person 
— you  know  whom  I  mean — died  recently,  and  so  he  has 
had  to  resign  himself  to  living  alone  with  his  daughter 
Octavie,  a  very  pious  young  woman  who  does  not  care  to 
marry.  His  son  Raymond,  being  a  naval  officer,  is  always 
far  away,  and  the  house  cannot  be  very  cheerful,  unless  in- 
deed Philis  is  already  seeking  consolation,  which  may  be 
the  case,  for  I  saw  a  new  servant  there  the  other  day — yes, 
quite  a  sturdy,  fresh-looking  girl!  ' 

Darras  burst  into  a  loud  laugh.  For  his  own  part,  having 
retired  from  business  with  a  handsome  fortune,  he  was  living 
his  last  years  in  perfect  union  with  his  wife,  their  only  regret 
being  that  they  had  no  children. 

'  Well,'  Marc  resumed,  '  Joulic  may  now  feel  certain  that 
he  will  not  be  worried  any  more.  .  .  .  It  is  he,  you 
know,  who,  in  spite  of  all  difficulties,  transformed  the  town 
with  his  school,  and  made  your  election  possible.' 

'  Oh!  you  were  the  first  great  worker,'  Darras  exclaimed. 
'  I  don't  forget  the  immense  services  which  you  rendered. 
But  you  may  be  quite  easy,  Joulic  is  now  safe  from 
all  vexations,  and  I  will  help  him  as  much  as  I  can  in  his 
efforts  to  make  Maillebois  free  and  intelligent. 
Besides,  your  daughter  Louise  and  Simon's  son  Joseph  are 
now,  in  their  turn,  continuing  the  work  of  liberation.  You 
are  a  knot  of  brave  but  modest  workers,  to  whom  we  shall 
all  feel  very  grateful  hereafter.' 

Then,  for  a  moment,  they  chatted  about  the  now  distant 
times  when  Marc  had  been  first  appointed  to  the  Maillebois 
school.  More  than  thirty  years  had  elapsed!  And  how 


494  TRUTH 

many  were  the  events  that  had  occurred,  and  how  many 
were  the  children  who  had  passed  through  the  schoolroom 
and  carried  some  of  the  new  spirit  into  the  district  around 
them!  Marc  recalled  some  of  his  old,  his  first,  pupils. 
Fernand  Bongard,  the  little  peasant  with  the  hard  nut,  who 
had  married  Lucille  Doloir,  an  intelligent  girl,  whom  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire  had  tried  to  rear  in  sanctimonious  fash- 
ion, was  now  the  father  of  a  girl  eleven  years  of  age,  named 
Claire,  whom  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  was  freeing  somewhat 
from  clerical  servitude.  Then  Auguste  Doloir,  the  mason's 
undisciplined  son,  who  had  married  Angele  Bongard,  an 
obstinate  young  woman  of  narrow  ambition,  had  a  son  of 
fifteen,  Adrien,  a  remarkably  intelligent  youth  whom  Joulic, 
his  master,  greatly  praised.  Charles  Doloir,  the  locksmith, 
who  had  been  as  bad  a  pupil  as  his  brother,  but  who  had 
improved  somewhat  since  his  marriage  with  his  master's 
daughter,  Marthe  Dupuis,  also  had  a  son,  Marcel,  who  was 
now  thirteen,  and  had  left  the  school  with  excellent  certifi- 
cates. There  was  also  Le"on  Doloir,  who,  thanks  to  Marc, 
had  taken  to  the  teaching  profession,  and  after  becoming 
one  of  Salvan's  best  students,  now  directed  the  school  at 
Les  Bordes,  assisted  by  his  wife,  Juliette  Hochard,  who  had 
quitted  the  Training  School  at  Fontenay  with  '  No.  i  ' 
against  her  name.  That  young  couple  was  all  health  and 
good  sense,  and  their  life  was  brightened  by  the  presence 
of  a  little  four-year-old  urchin,  Edmond,  who  was  sharp  for 
his  age,  already  knowing  his  letters  thoroughly.  Then 
came  the  twin  Savins:  first  Achille,  so  sly,  so  addicted  to 
falsehoods  as  a  boy,  then  placed  with  a  process-server, 
dulled  like  his  father  by  years  of  office  work,  and  married 
to  a  colleague's  sister,  Virginie  Deschamps,  a  lean  and  in- 
significant blonde,  by  whom  he  had  a  charming  little  girl, 
Leontine,  who  at  eleven  years  of  age  had  just  secured  her 
certificate,  and  was  one  of  Mademoiselle  Mazeline 's  favour- 
ite pupils.  Then  came  Philippe  Savin,  who,  long  remaining 
without  employment,  had  been  rendered  better  by  a  life  of 
hardship,  and  was  now  still  a  bachelor,  and  manager  of  a 
model  farm,  being  associated  in  that  enterprise  with  his 
younger  brother  Jules,  the  most  intelligent  of  the  two, 
who  had  given  himself  to  the  soil  and  married  a  peasant 
girl,  Rosalie  Bonin — their  firstborn,  Pierre,  now  six  years 
old,  having  lately  entered  Joulic's  school.  Thus  genera- 
tion followed  generation,  each  going  towards  increase  of 
knowledge,  reason,  truth,  and  justice,  and  it  was  assuredly 


TRUTH  495 

from  that  constant  evolution  which  education  produced, 
that  the  happiness  of  the  communities  of  the  future  would 
spring. 

But  Marc  was  more  particularly  interested  in  the  home 
of  Louise  and  Joseph,  and  in  that  of  his  dearest  pupil,  Se"- 
bastien  Milhomme,  who  had  married  Sarah.  That  day,  on 
quitting  Darras,  he  repaired  to  the  Communal  school  in 
order  to  see  his  daughter.  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  now 
more  than  sixty  years  of  age,  with  a  record  of  forty  years 
spent  in  elementary  teaching,  had,  like  Salvan,  lately  retired 
to  Jonville,  where  she  now  dwelt  in  a  very  modest  little 
house  near  his  beautiful  garden.  She  might  still  have  ren- 
dered some  services  in  her  profession  had  not  her  eyesight 
failed  her.  Indeed,  she  was  nearly  blind.  In  retiring, 
however,  she  at  least  had  the  consolation  of  handing  her 
duties  over  to  her  well-loved  assistant  Louise,  who  was  ap- 
pointed head  mistress  in  her  stead.  Moreover,  a  head- 
mastership  at  Beaumont  was  now  being  spoken  of  for  Joulic, 
in  such  wise  that  his  assistant  Joseph  might  succeed  him  at 
Maillebois;  and  thus  the  young  couple  would  share  the 
school  which  still  re-echoed  the  names  of  Simon  and  Marc, 
whose  good  work  they  would  continue.  Louise,  who  was 
now  two  and  thirty,  had  presented  her  husband  with  a  son, 
Fran£ois,  who  at  twelve  years  of  age  was  already  wonder- 
fully like  his  grandfather  Marc.  And  the  ambition  of  that 
big  bright-eyed  boy  with  the  lofty  brow  was  to  enter  the 
Training  College  like  his  forerunners,  for  he  also  wished  to 
become  an  elementary  teacher. 

It  was  a  Thursday — half-holiday  day — and  Marc  found 
Louise  just  quitting  a  house-work  class  which  she  held  once 
a  week  outside  the  regulation  hours.  Joseph,  with  his  son 
and  some  other  boys,  had  gone  on  a  geological  and  botanical 
ramble  along  the  banks  of  the  Verpille.  But  Sarah  hap- 
pened to  be  with  Louise,  for  she  was  very  much  attached  to 
her  sister-in-law,  and  always  visited  her  when  she  came  over 
from  Rouville,  where  her  husband  Sebastien  was  now  head- 
master. 

They  had  a  charming  little  girl,  Thercsc,  in  whom  all  the 
beauty  of  her  grandmother  Rachel  had  reappeared.  And 
three  times  a  week  Sarah  came  from  Rouville  to  Maillebois 
— the  journey  by  rail  lasting  barely  ten  minutes — in  order 
to  superintend  the  tailoring  business  which  was  still  carried 
on  at  old  Lehmann's  in  the  Rue  du  Trou.  He  was  now 
very  old  indeed,  more  than  eighty,  and  as  it  had  become 


496  TRUTH 

difficult  for  Sarah  to  superintend  the  establishment  she 
thought  of  disposing  of  it. 

As  soon  as  Marc  had  kissed  Louise  he  pressed  both  of 
Sarah's  hands.  '  And  how  is  my  faithful  Sebastien? '  he 
asked.  '  How  is  your  big  girl  The'rese,  and  how  are  you 
yourself,  my  dear? ' 

'  Everybody  is  in  the  best  of  health, '  Sarah  answered 
gaily.  '  Even  grandfather  Lehmann  is  as  strong  as  an  oak- 
tree  in  spite  of  his  advanced  years.  .  .  .  And  I  have 
had  good  news  from  yonder,  you  know.  Uncle  David  has 
written  to  say  that  my  father  has  got  over  the  attacks  of 
fever  which  have  been  troubling  him  occasionally.' 

Marc  jogged  his  head  gently.  '  Yes,  yes,  his  wound  is 
not  altogether  healed.  To  restore  him  completely  to  health 
one  needs  that  long-desired  rehabilitation  which  it  is  so 
difficult  to  obtain.  We  are  advancing  towards  it,  however; 
I  am  still  full  of  hope,  for  glorious  times  are  coming.  .  .  . 
Remind  Sebastien  that  each  boy  he  makes  a  man  of  will  be 
another  worker  in  the  cause  of  truth  and  justice.' 

Then  Marc  chatted  a  while  with  Louise,  giving  her  news 
of  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  who  lived  a  very  retired  life  at 
Jonville  in  the  company  of  birds  and  flowers.  And  he 
made  his  daughter  promise  to  send  her  son  Francois  to 
spend  the  Sunday  there,  for  it  was  a  great  delight  for  his 
grandmother  to  have  the  boy  with  her  occasionally.  '  And 
why  not  come  yourself? '  he  added.  '  Tell  Joseph  to  come 
as  well;  we  will  all  call  on  Salvan,  who  will  be  well  pleased 
to  see  such  a  gathering  of  teachers,  whose  father  in  a  meas- 
ure he  is.  ...  And  you,  Sarah,  you  ought  to  come 
with  Sebastien  and  your  daughter  Therese.  Let  it  be  a 
general  outing  and  our  pleasure  will  be  complete.  .  .  . 
Come,  it  is  understood,  eh?  Till  Sunday,  then!  ' 

He  kissed  the  two  young  women  and  hurried  away,  for 
he  wished  to  catch  the  six-o'clock  train.  But  he  nearly 
missed  it  by  reason  of  a  strange  encounter  which  for  a  mo- 
ment delayed  him.  He  was  turning  out  of  the  High  Street 
into  the  avenue  leading  to  the  railway  station,  when  he 
espied  two  individuals  who  were  disputing  violently  behind 
a  clump  of  spindle  trees.  One  of  them,  who  seemed  to  be 
a  man  of  forty,  attracted  Marc's  attention  by  his  long,  livid, 
and  doltish  face.  Where  was  it  that  he  had  previously  seen 
that  stupid,  vicious  countenance?  All  at  once  he  remem- 
bered: that  man  was  certainly  Polydor,  Pe"lagie's  nephew. 
For  more  than  twenty  years  Marc  had  not  met  him,  but  he 


TRUTH  497 

was  aware  that  he  had  been  dismissed,  long  ago,  from  the 
Beaumont  convent  which  he  had  entered  as  a  servant,  and 
that  he  led  a  chance  existence  among  the  knaves  of  dis- 
reputable neighbourhoods.  However,  Polydor,  noticing 
and  probably  recognising  the  bystander  who  was  looking  at 
him  so  attentively,  hastened  to  lead  his  companion  away. 
And  then,  as  Marc  glanced  at  the  other  man,  he  started 
with  surprise.  Clad  in  a  dirty  frock-coat,  looking  both 
wretched  and  fierce,  Polydor's  companion  had  the  haggard 
countenance  of  an  old  bird  of  prey.  Surely  he  was  Brother 
Gorgias!  Marc  at  once  remembered  what  Delbos  had  told 
him;  and  thereupon,  wishing  to  arrive  at  a  certainty,  he 
started  after  the  two  men,  who  had  already  turned  into  a 
little  side  street.  But  though  he  gave  the  street  a  good 
look,  he  could  see  nobody.  Polydor  and  the  other  had  dis- 
appeared into  one  of  the  houses  of  suspicious  aspect  which 
lined  it.  Then  Marc  again  began  to  doubt.  Was  it  really 
Gorgias  whom  he  had  seen?  He  was  not  prepared  to  swear 
it;  he  feared  that  he  had  perhaps  yielded  to  some  fancy. 

At  present  Marc  triumphed  at  Jonville.  By  degrees,  as 
healthy  and  reasonable  men  had  emerged  from  his  school, 
the  mentality  of  the  region  had  improved,  and  not  only  was 
there  increase  of  knowledge,  logic,  frankness,  and  brotherli- 
ness,  but  great  material  prosperity  was  appearing,  for  a 
land's  fortune  and  happiness  depend  solely  upon  the  mental 
culture  and  the  civic  morality  of  its  inhabitants.  Again, 
then,  was  abundance  returning  to  clean  and  well-kept 
homes;  the  fields,  thanks  to  newly  adopted  methods  of 
culture,  displayed  magnificent  crops;  the  country-side  was 
once  more  becoming  a  joy  for  the  eyes  in  the  bright  summer 
sunshine.  And  thus  a  happy  stretch  of  land  was  at  last 
advancing  towards  that  perpetual  peace  which  for  centuries 
had  been  so  ardently  desired. 

Martineau  the  Mayor,  followed  by  the  whole  parish  coun- 
cil, now  acted  in  agreement  with  Marc.  A  series  of  inci- 
dents had  hastened  that  good  understanding  by  which  all 
desirable  reforms  were  accelerated.  Abbe"  Cognasse,  after 
for  some  time  restraining  himself,  in  accordance  with  the 
advice  given  him  at  Valmarte,  which  was  to  retain  his  in- 
fluence over  the  women, — for  whoever  possesses  their  support 
proves  invincible, — had  relapsed  into  his  wonted  violence, 
incapable  as  he  was  of  long  remaining  patient,  and  enraged, 
too,  at  seeing  the  women  gradually  escape  from  him,  owing 
to  the  ill  grace  with  which  he  sought  to  detain  them.  At 


498  TRUTH 

last,  like  the  vengeful  minister  of  a  ravaging  and  exterminat- 
ing Deity,  he  became  absolutely  brutal,  distributing  out- 
rageous punishment  in  his  wrath  at  the  slightest  offences. 
One  day,  for  instance,  he  rubbed  little  Moulin 's  ears  till 
they  positively  bled,  merely  because  the  lad  had  playfully 
pulled  the  skirts  of  the  terrible  Palmyre,  who,  in  her  time, 
had  administered  smacks  and  whippings  so  freely.  Another 
day  the  Abbe"  boxed  young  Catherine's  ears  in  church  be- 
cause she  laughed  during  Mass  on  seeing  him  blow  his  nose 
at  the  altar.  And  finally,  one  Sunday,  quite  beside  himself 
at  finding  that  the  district  was  escaping  from  his  control, 
he  actually  launched  a  kick  at  Madame  Martineau  the 
mayoress,  imagining  that  she  defied  him  because  she  did 
not  make  room  for  him  to  pass  as  quickly  as  he  desired. 
This  time  it  was  held  that  his  behaviour  exceeded  all  bounds, 
and  Martineau,  quite  enraged,  cited  him  before  the  Tribunal 
of  Correctional  Police,  with  the  result  that  the  battle  became 
a  furious  one,  Cognasse  retaliating  with  fresh  acts  of  vio- 
lence, and  gathering  quite  a  quantity  of  lawsuits  around 
him. 

Marc  meanwhile,  anxious  to  complete  his  work  in  the 
village,  had  been  nursing  an  idea,  which  he  was  at  last  able 
to  carry  into  effect.  In  consequence  of  some  new  laws 
enacted  by  the  Legislature,  the  Sisters  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd, who  carried  on  the  factory  in  which  two  hundred 
work-girls  were  sweated  and  starved,  had  been  obliged  to 
quit  Jonville.  And  it  was  a  good  riddance  for  the  district, 
a  plague-spot,  a  shame  the  less.  Marc,  however,  persuaded 
the  parish  council  to  purchase  the  large  factory  buildings, 
when  they  were  offered  for  sale  by  auction ;  his  idea  being 
to  modify  and  turn  them  into  a  Common.  House,  in  which 
recreation  and  dancing  rooms,  a  library,  a  museum,  and 
even  some  free  baths  might  be  gradually  installed  as  by  de- 
grees the  resources  of  the  parish  increased.  In  this  wise 
he  dreamt  of  setting,  in  full  view  of  the  church,  a  kind  of 
civic  palace,  which  would  become  a  meeting  and  recreation 
place  for  the  hard-working  community.  If  the  women  for 
years  past  had  only  continued  to  go  to  Mass  in  order  to 
show  their  new  gowns  and  see  those  of  their  acquaintances, 
they  would  yet  more  willingly  repair  to  that  cheerful  palace 
of  solidarity,  where  a  little  healthy  amusement  would  await 
thercu  Thus,  the  recreation  rooms  were  the  first  inaugu- 
rated, and  the  ceremony  gave  rise  to  a  great  popular  demon- 
stration. 


TRUTH  499 

The  desire  of  the  inhabitants  was  to  efface  and  redeem 
that  former  consecration  of  the  parish  to  the  Sacred  Heart, 
which  had  filled  the  mayor  and  the  council  with  keen  re- 
morse ever  since  they  had  recovered  their  senses.  Marti- 
neau,  for  his  part,  accounted  for  that  proceeding  by  accusing 
Jauffre  of  having  abandoned  him  to  Abb£  Cognasse,  after 
disturbing  his  mind  by  threatening  both  the  parish  and  him- 
self with  all  sorts  of  misfortunes  if  he  did  not  submit  to  the 
Church,  which  would  always  be  the  most  powerful  of  the 
social  forces.  Martineau,  who  now  perceived  that  this  was 
not  correct,  for  the  Church  was  already  being  beaten,  and 
the  more  the  district  drew  away  from  it  the  more  prosperous 
it  became,  was  very  desirous  of  setting  himself  on  the  win- 
ning side,  like  a  practical  peasant,  one  who  talked  little  but 
who  always  kept  his  eye  fixed  on  the  main  chance.  He  would 
therefore  have  liked  some  kind  of  abjuration,  some  cere- 
mony such  as  might  allow  him  to  come  forward  at  the  head 
of  the  council,  and  restore  the  parish  to  the  worship  of 
reason  and  truth,  in  order  to  wipe  out  that  former  ceremony 
when  it  had  dedicated  itself  to  dementia  and  falsehood. 
And  it  was  this  desire  which  Marc  thought  of  fulfilling  by 
arranging  that  the  mayor  and  the  council  should  in  a  fitting 
manner  inaugurate  the  recreation  rooms  of  the  new  Common 
House,  in  which  it  was  proposed  that  the  inhabitants  of  the 
district  should  meet  every  Sunday  to  take  part  in  suitable 
civic  festivities. 

Great  preparations  were  made.  It  was  arranged  that  the 
pupils  of  Marc  and  Genevieve  should  act  a  little  play, 
dance,  and  sing.  An  orchestra  was  soon  recruited  among 
the  young  men  of  the  region.  Maidens  clad  in  white  were 
also  to  sing  and  dance  in  honour  of  the  work  of  the  fields 
and  the  joys  of  life.  Indeed  it  was  particularly  life,  lived 
healthily  and  fully,  overflowing  with  duties  and  felicities, 
that  was  to  be  celebrated  as  the  universal  source  of  strength 
and  certainty.  And  the  various  games  and  recreations 
which  had  been  provided,  games  of  skill  and  energy,  gym- 
nastic appliances,  with  running  tracks  and  lawns  set  out  in 
the  adjoining  grounds,  were  to  be  handed  over  to  the  young 
folk  who  would  meet  there  every  week,  while  shady  nooks 
would  be  reserved  for  wives  and  mothers,  who  would  be 
drawn  together  and  enlivened  by  having  a  salon,  a  meeting 
place,  assigned  to  them.  For  the  inaugural  ceremony, 
the  rooms  were  decorated  with  flowers  and  foliage,  and 
already  at  an  early  hour  the  inhabitants  of  Jonville,  clad 


5OO  TRUTH 

in  their  Sunday  best,  filled  the  village  streets  with  their 
mirth. 

By  Marc's  desire,  and  with  the  consent  of  the  parents, 
Mignot,  that  Sunday,  brought  his  pupils  over  from  Le 
Moreux  in  order  that  they  might  participate  in  the  festivity. 
He  was  met  by  Marc  near  the  church  just  as  old  Palmyre 
double-locked  the  door  of  the  edifice  in  a  violent,  wrathful 
fashion.  That  morning  Abbe  Cognasse  had  said  Mass  to 
empty  benches,  and  it  was  he  who,  in  a  fit  of  furious  anger, 
had  ordered  his  servant  to  close  the  church.  Nobody 
should  enter  it  again,  said  he,  as  those  impious  people  were 
bent  on  offering  sacrifices  to  the  idols  of  human  bestiality. 
He  himself  had  disappeared,  hiding  away  in  the  parsonage 
whose  garden  wall  bordered  the  road  leading  to  the  new 
Common  House. 

4  This  is  the  second  Sunday  that  he  has  not  gone  to  Le 
Moreux,'  Mignot  said  to  Marc.  'He  declares  with  some 
truth  that  it  is  not  worth  his  while  to  trudge  so  many  miles 
to  say  Mass  in  the  presence  of  two  old  women  and  three 
little  girls.  The  whole  village  has  rebelled  against  him,  you 
know,  since  he  brutally  spanked  little  Eugenie  Louvard  for 
having  put  out  her  tongue  to  him ;  though  that  is  only  one 
of  the  acts  of  violence  in  which  he  has  indulged  since  he  has 
felt  himself  to  be  defeated.  Curiously  enough,  it  is  I  who 
am  obliged  to  defend  him  now  for  fear  lest  the  indignant 
villagers  should  do  him  an  injury.' 

Mignot  laughed  and,  on  being  questioned,  gave  further 
particulars.  '  Yes,  Saleur,  our  mayor,  has  talked  of  bring- 
ing an  action  against  him  and  writing  to  his  bishop.  As  a 
matter  of  fact,  if  I  at  first  had  some  difficulty  in  extricating 
Le  Moreux  from  the  ignorance  and  credulity  in  which  it  was 
steeped  by  my  predecessor  Chagnat,  at  present  I  simply 
have  to  let  events  follow  their  course.  The  whole  popula- 
tion is  rallying  around  me,  the  school  will  soon  reign  with- 
out a  rival,  for,  as  the  church  is  being  shut  up,  the  battle  is 
virtually  over.' 

'  Oh!  we  have  not  got  to  that  point  yet,'  Marc  answered. 
4  Here,  at  Jonville,  Cognasse  will  resist  till  the  last  moment 
— that  is,  as  long  as  he  is  paid  by  the  State  and  imposed  on 
us  by  Rome.  But  I  have  often  thought  that  the  lonely  little 
hamlets  like  Le  Moreux,  particularly  when  life  is  easy  there, 
would  be  the  first  to  free  themselves  from  the  priests,  be- 
cause the  latter 's  departure  would  make  virtually  no  altera- 
tion in  their  social  life.  When  people  don't  like  their  priest, 


TRUTH  501 

when  they  go  to  church  less  and  less,  the  disappearance  of 
the  priest  is  witnessed  without  regret. ' 

However,  Marc  and  Mignot  could  not  linger  chatting  any 
longer,  for  the  ceremony  would  soon  begin.  So  they  re- 
paired to  the  Common  House,  where  their  pupils  had  now 
assembled.  They  there  found  Genevieve  with  Salvan  and 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  both  the  latter  having  emerged 
from  their  retirement  to  attend  that  festival  which  was,  so 
to  say,  their  work,  the  celebration  of  their  teaching.  And 
everything  passed  off  in  a  very  simple,  fraternal,  and  joyous 
manner.  The  authorities,  Martineau  wearing  his  scarf  of 
office  at  the  head  of  the  council,  took  possession  of  that  little 
Palace  of  the  People  in  the  name  of  the  parish.  Then  the 
schoolchildren  acted,  played,  and  sang,  inaugurating,  as  it 
were,  the  future  of  happy  peace  and  beneficent  work  with 
their  healthy  and  innocent  hands.  It  was,  indeed,  ever- 
reviving  youth,  it  was  the  children,  who  would  overcome 
the  last  obstacles  on  the  road  to  the  future  city  of  perfect 
solidarity.  That  which  the  child  of  to-day  had  been  unable 
to  do  would  be  done  by  the  child  of  to-morrow.  And  when 
the  little  ones  had  raised  their  cry  of  hope,  the  youths  and 
the  maidens  came  forward,  displaying  the  promise  of  early 
fruitfulness.  One  found,  too,  maturity  and  harvest  in  all 
the  assembled  fathers  and  mothers,  behind  whom  were  the 
old  folk  typifying  the  happy  evening  which  attends  life  when 
it  has  been  lived  as  it  should  be  lived.  And  all  were  now 
acquiring  a  true  consciousness  of  things,  setting  their  ideal 
no  longer  in  any  mysticism,  but  in  the  proper  regulation  of 
human  life,  which  needed  to  be  all  reason,  truth,  and  justice 
in  order  that  mankind  might  dwell  together  in  peace, 
brotherliness,  and  happiness.  Henceforth  Jonville  would 
have  a  meeting  hall  in  that  fraternal  house  where  joy  and 
health  would  take  the  place  of  threat  and  punishment, 
where  enlightenment  would  gladden  the  hearts  of  one  and 
all.  No  heart  nor  mind  would  be  disturbed  there  by  mys- 
tical impostures,  no  shares  in  any  false  paradise  would  be 
offered  for  sale.  Those  who  came  forth  from  that  building 
would  be  cheerful  citizens,  happy  to  live  for  the  sake  of  the 
joy  of  life.  And  all  the  cruel  and  grotesque  absurdity  of 
dogmas  would  crumble  in  the  presence  of  that  simple  gaiety, 
that  beneficent  light. 

The  dancing  lasted  until  the  evening.  Never  had  the 
comely  peasant  women  of  Jonville  participated  in  such  a 
festival.  Everybody  noticed  the  radiant  countenance  of 


502  TRUTH 

Madame  Martineau,  who  had  remained  one  of  Abb£  Cog- 
nasse's  last  worshippers,  though,  in  reality,  she  had  only  gone 
to  church  in  order  to  show  off  her  new  gowns.  She  wore 
a  new  gown  that  day,  and  was  delighted  at  being  able  to 
display  it  without  any  fear  that  it  might  become  soiled  by 
trailing  over  damp  and  dirty  flagstones.  Again,  she  knew 
that  she  ran  no  risk  of  being  kicked  if  she  did  not  get  soon 
enough  out  of  somebody's  way.  Briefly,  in  that  Common 
House  Jonville  would  at  last  have  a  fitting  salon  where  one 
and  all  might  freely  meet  and  chat,  and  even  indulge  in  a 
little  harmless  coquetry. 

But  it  so  happened  that  an  extraordinary  incident  marked 
the  close  of  that  great  day.  Marc  and  Genevieve  were 
escorting  their  pupils  homeward,  with  Mignot,  who  also 
had  marshalled  his  children  together;  and  Salvan  and 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline  likewise  figured  in  the  party,  which 
was  all  gaiety,  jest,  and  laughter.  Near  by,  too,  there  was 
Madame  Martineau,  accompanied  by  a  group  of  women,  to 
whom  she  recounted  the  result  of  the  legal  proceedings 
which  her  husband  had  brought  against  the  priest  for  kick- 
ing her.  Fifteen  witnesses  had  given  evidence  before  the 
Court,  and  after  some  uproarious  proceedings  Abb£  Cog- 
nasse  had  been  sentenced  to  a  fine  of  five  and  twenty  francs, 
this  being  the  chief  cause  of  the  fury  which  he  had  dis- 
played for  several  days  past.  And,  all  at  once,  as  Madame 
Martineau — finishing  her  narrative  as  she  passed  the  par- 
sonage garden — remarked  that  the  fine  was  no  more  than 
the  priest  deserved,  Abbe  Cognasse  in  person  popped  his 
head  over  the  garden  wall  and  began  to  vociferate  insults. 

'Ah!  you  vain  hussy!  '  he  cried,  'you  lying  thing!  how 
dare  you  spit  on  God?  I  '11  force  your  serpent  tongue  back 
into  your  throat! ' 

How  was  it  that  the  priest  happened  to  be  there  at  that 
particular  moment?  Nobody  could  tell.  Perhaps  he  had 
been  waiting  behind  the  wall  for  the  return  of  the  villagers. 
Perhaps  he  had  set  a  ladder  in  readiness  in  order  that  he 
might  climb  and  look  over.  At  all  events,  when  he  per- 
ceived La  Martineau  in  her  new  gown,  surrounded  by  a 
number  of  other  sprucely  dressed  women,  who  had  deserted 
the  church  to  attend  an  impious  ceremony  in  the  devil's 
house,  he  completely  lost  his  head. 

'  You  shameless  creatures,  you  make  the  very  angels 
weep!  '  he  shouted.  '  You  cursed  creatures,  you  poison  the 
whole  district  with  your  filth!  But  wait,  wait  a  moment,  I 


TRUTH  503 

will  settle  your  accounts  for  you  without  waiting  for  Satan 
to  come  and  take  you! ' 

And  forthwith,  exasperated  as  he  was  at  no  longer  having 
even  the  women  with  him, — those  unhappy,  feared,  and  exe- 
crated women  whom  the  Church  captures  and  employs  as 
its  instruments, — he  tore  some  stones  from  the  ruined  coping 
of  the  wall  and  flung  them  with  his  lean  dark  hands  at 
Madame  Martineau  and  her  companions. 

'That  's  one  for  you,  La  Mathurine!  '  he  shouted.  '  I 
know  of  your  goings  on  with  your  husband's  farm  hands! 
.  That  's  one  for  you,  La  Durande!  You  robbed 
your  sister  of  her  share  of  your  father's  property.  .  .  . 
And  here  's  for  you,  La  De'sire'e!  You  have  n't  yet  paid 
for  the  three  Masses  which  I  said  for  the  repose  of  your 
child's  soul!  .  .  .  And  as  for  you,  you,  La  Martineau, 
who  got  the  judges  to  condemn  God  and  me,  here  's  one 
stone,  and  two,  and  three!  Yes,  wait  a  moment,  you 
shall  have  a  stone  for  every  one  of  those  five  and  twenty 
francs! ' 

The  scandal  was  tremendous;  two  women  were  struck, 
and  the  rural  guard,  who  had  now  come  up,  at  once  began 
to  scribble  an  official  report.  Amidst  the  shouting  and 
hooting  Abbe  Cognasse  suddenly  recovered  his  senses. 
Like  some  deity  threatening  the  world  with  destruction  he 
made  a  last  fierce  gesture,  then  sprang  down  his  ladder,  and 
disappeared  like  a  Jack  into  his  box.  He  had  just  set  an- 
other fine  lawsuit  on  his  shoulders,  which  bent  already  be- 
neath a  pile  of  citations. 

On  the  following  Thursday  Marc  repaired  to  Maillebois, 
and  a  fancy  which  had  been  haunting  him  for  some  time 
past  was  then  suddenly  changed  into  certainty.  While 
crossing  the  little  Place  des  Capucins,  his  attention  was  at- 
tracted by  a  wretched-looking  man,  who  stood  in  front  of 
the  Brothers'  school  gazing  fixedly  at  the  dilapidated  walls. 
And  Marc  immediately  recognised  this  man  to  be  the  one 
whom  he  had  perceived  with  Polydor,  in  the  avenue  leading 
to  the  railway  station,  a  month  previously.  This  time  he 
had  no  cause  for  hesitation.  He  was  able  to  examine  the 
man  at  his  ease,  in  the  broad  sunlight,  and  he  saw  that  he 
was,  indeed,  Brother  Gorgias — Gorgias,  in  old  and  greasy 
clothing,  with  hollow  cheeks  and  bent  limbs,  but  still  easily 
recognisable  by  the  large,  fierce  beak  which  jutted  out  from 
between  his  projecting  cheek-bones.  Thus  Delbos  had  not 
been  mistaken;  Gorgias  had  really  returned,  and,  doubtless, 


504  TRUTH 

had  been  prowling  about  the  region  for  a  good  many  months 
already. 

The  Ignorantine,  amid  the  reverie  into  which  he  had  sunk 
as  he  stood  on  that  sleepy  and  almost  invariably  deserted 
little  square,  must  have  become  conscious  of  the  scrutinising 
gaze  which  was  being  directed  upon  him.  He  slowly  turned 
round,  and  his  eyes  then  met  those  of  the  man  who  stood 
only  a  few  steps  away.  And  he,  on  his  side,  assuredly 
recognised  Marc.  Instead,  however,  of  evincing  any  alarm, 
instead  of  taking  to  his  heels  as  he  had  done  on  the  first  oc- 
casion, he  lingered  there,  and  his  old  sneer,  that  involuntary 
twitching  of  the  lips  which  disclosed  some  of  his  wolfish 
teeth  in  a  manner  suggesting  both  contempt  and  cruelty, 
appeared  upon  his  face.  Then,  pointing  to  the  tumble- 
down walls  of  the  Brothers'  school,  he  said  quietly:  '  That 
sight  must  please  you  every  time  you  pass  this  way — eh, 
Monsieur  Froment  ?  .  .  .  It  angers  me;  I'd  like  to  set 
fire  to  the  shanty,  and  burn  the  last  of  those  cowards  in  it!  ' 

Then,  as  Marc  shuddered  without  replying,  thunderstruck 
as  he  was  by  the  bandit's  audacity  in  addressing  him, 
Gorgias  again  grinned  in  his  silent,  evil  way,  and  added: 
'  Are  you  astonished  that  I  should  confess  myself  to  you? 
You,  no  doubt,  were  my  worst  enemy.  But,  after  all,  why 
should  I  bear  you  malice?  You  owed  me  nothing,  you 
were  fighting  for  your  own  opinions.  .  .  .  The  men  I 
hate  and  whom  I  mean  to  pursue  until  my  last  breath  are 
my  superiors,  my  brothers  in  Jesus  Christ,  all  those  whose 
duty  it  was  to  cover  and  save  me,  but  who  flung  me  into 
the  streets,  hoping  I  should  die  of  shame  and  starvation. 
I  myself,  it  may  be  allowed,  am  but  a  poor  and 
erring  creature,  but  it  was  God  whom  those  wretched 
cowards  betrayed  and  sold,  for  it  is  their  fault,  the  fault  of 
their  imbecile  weakness  if  the  Church  is  now  near  to  defeat, 
and  if  that  poor  school  yonder  is  already  falling  to  pieces. 
Ah !  when  one  remembers  what  a  position  it  held 
in  my  time!  We  were  the  victors  then;  we  had  reduced 
your  secular  schools  to  next  to  nothing.  But  now  they  are 
triumphing,  and  will  soon  be  the  only  ones  left.  The 
thought  of  it  fills  me  with  regret  and  anger!  ' 

Then,  as  two  old  women  crossed  the  square  and  a  Ca- 
puchin came  out  of  the  neighbouring  chapel,  Gorgias,  after 
glancing  anxiously  about  him,  added  swiftly  in  an  under- 
tone: 'Listen  to  me,  Monsieur  Froment;  for  a  long  time 
past  I  have  wished  to  have  a  chat  with  you.  If  you  are 


TRUTH  505 

willing  I  will  call  on  you  at  Jonville  some  day,  after  night- 
fall.' 

Then  he  hurried  off,  disappearing  before  Marc  could  say 
a  word.  The  schoolmaster,  who  was  quite  upset  by  that 
meeting,  spoke  of  it  to  nobody  excepting  his  wife,  who  felt 
alarmed  when  she  heard  of  it.  They  agreed  that  they 
would  not  admit  that  man  if  he  should  venture  to  call  on 
them,  for  the  visit  he  announced  might  well  prove  to  be 
some  machination  of  treachery  and  falsehood.  Gorgias 
had  always  lied,  and  he  would  lie  again;  so  it  was  absurd 
to  expect  from  him  any  useful  new  fact  such  as  had  been 
sought  so  long.  However,  some  months  elapsed  and  the 
other  made  no  sign;  in  such  wise  that  Marc  who,  at  the 
outset,  had  remained  watchful  with  a  view  of  keeping  his 
door  shut,  gradually  grew  astonished  and  impatient.  He 
wondered  what  might  be  the  things  which  Gorgias  had 
wished  to  tell  him;  and  a  desire  to  know  them  worried  him 
more  and  more.  After  all,  why  should  he  not  receive  the 
scamp?  Even  if  he  learnt  nothing  useful  from  him,  he 
would  have  an  opportunity  of  fathoming  his  nature.  And 
having  come  to  that  conclusion,  Marc  lived  on  in  suspense, 
waiting  for  the  visit  which  was  so  long  deferred. 

At  last,  one  winter  evening,  when  the  rain  was  pouring  in 
torrents,  Brother  Gorgias  presented  himself,  clad  in  an  old 
cloak,  streaming  with  mud  and  water.  As  soon  as  he  had 
rid  himself  of  that  rag,  Marc  showed  him  into  his  classroom, 
which  was  still  warm,  for  the  fire  in  the  faience  stove  was 
only  just  dying  out.  A  little  oil  lamp  alone  cast  some  light 
over  a  portion  of  that  large  and  silent  room  around  which 
big  shadows  had  gathered.  And  Genevieve,  trembling 
slightly  with  a  vague  fear  of  some  possible  attempt  upon 
her  husband,  remained  listening  behind  a  door. 

As  for  Brother  Gorgias,  he,  without  any  ado,  resumed 
the  conversation  interrupted  on  the  Place  des  Capucins,  as 
if  it  had  taken  place  that  very  afternoon. 

'You  know,  Monsieur  Froment,'  he  began,  'the  Church 
is  dying  because  she  no  longer  possesses  any  priests  resolute 
enough  to  support  her  by  fire  and  steel,  if  need  be.  Not 
one  of  the  poor  fools,  the  whimpering  clowns  of  the  present 
day,  loves  or  even  knows  the  real  God — He  who  at  once 
exterminated  the  nations  that  dared  to  disobey  Him,  and 
who  reigned  over  the  bodies  and  souls  of  men  like  an  abso- 
lute master,  ever  armed  with  resistless  thunderbolts.  .  .  . 
How  can  you  expect  the  world  to  be  different  from  what  it 


506  TRUTH 

is,  if  the  Deity  now  merely  has  poltroons  and  fools  to  speak 
in  His  name? ' 

Then  Gorgias  enumerated  his  superiors,  his  brothers  in 
Christ,  as  he  called  them,  one  by  one,  and  a  perfect  massacre 
ensued.  Monseigneur  Bergerot,  who  had  lately  died  at  the 
advanced  age  of  eighty-seven,  had  never  been  aught  than 
a  poor,  timid,  incoherent  creature,  lacking  the  necessary 
courage  to  secede  from  Rome  and  establish  that  famous 
liberal  and  rationalist  Church  of  France  which  he  had 
dreamt  of,  and  which  would  have  been  little  else  than  a 
new  Protestant  sect.  Those  lettered  Bishops  gifted  with 
inquiring  minds,  but  destitute  of  all  sturdiness  of  faith, 
suffered  the  incredulous  masses  to  desert  the  altars  instead 
of  flagellating  them  mercilessly  with  the  dread  of  hell.  But 
Gorgias's  most  intense  hatred  was  directed  against  Abbe 
Quandieu,  who  still  survived  though  his  eightieth  year  was 
past.  For  the  Ignorantine  the  ex-priest  of  St.  Martin's  was 
a  perjurer,  an  apostate,  a  bad  priest  who  had  spat  upon  his 
own  religion  by  openly  upholding  God's  enemies  at  the  time 
of  the  Simon  case.  Moreover,  he  had  abandoned  his  min- 
istry, and  gone  to  dwell  in  a  little  house  in  a  lonely  neigh- 
bourhood, impudently  saying  that  he  was  disgusted  with 
the  base  superstition  of  the  last  believers,  and  carrying  his 
audacity  so  far  as  to  pretend  that  the  monks,  whom  he 
called  the  traders  of  the  Temple,  were  demolishers  who  un- 
consciously hastened  the  downfall  of  the  Church.  But  if 
there  was  a  demolisher  it  was  he  himself,  for  his  desertion 
had  served  as  an  argument  to  the  enemies  of  Catholicism. 
Surely  indeed  it  was  an  abominable  example  that  he  had 
set — forswearing  all  his  past  life,  breaking  his  vows,  and 
preferring  a  sleek  and  shameful  old  age  to  martyrdom.  As 
for  that  big,  lean,  stern  Abb£  Coquart,  his  successor  at  St. 
Martin's,  however  imposing  the  newcomer  might  look  he 
was  in  reality  only  a  fool. 

Marc  had,  for  a  while,  listened  in  silence,  determined  to 
offer  no  interruption.  But  his  feelings  rebelled  when  he 
heard  Gorgias's  violent  attack  upon  Abb£  Quandieu.  '  You 
do  not  know  that  priest,'  he  said  quietly.  '  Your  judgment 
is  that  of  an  enemy,  blinded  by  spite.  .  .  .  As  a  matter 
of  fact,  Abb6  Quandieu  was  the  only  priest  of  this  region 
who,  at  the  outset,  understood  what  frightful  harm  the 
Church  would  do  herself  by  openly  and  passionately  defy- 
ing truth  and  justice.  She  claims  to  represent  a  Deity  of 
certainty  and  equity,  kindness  and  innocence;  she  was 


TRUTH  507 

founded  to  exalt  the  suffering  and  the  meek,  and  yet,  all  at 
once,  in  order  to  retain  temporal  authority,  she  makes  com- 
mon cause  with  oppressors  and  liars  and  forgers!  It  was 
certain  that  the  consequences  would  be  terrible  for  her  as 
soon  as  Simon's  innocence  should  become  manifest.  Such 
conduct  was  suicide  on  the  Church's  part.  With  her  own 
hands  she  prepared  her  condemnation,  showing  the  world 
that  she  was  no  longer  the  abode  of  the  true  and  the  just, 
of  everlasting  purity  and  goodness!  And  her  expiation  is 
only  just  beginning;  she  will  slowly  die  of  that  denial  of 
justice  which  she  took  upon  herself  and  which  has  become 
a  devouring  sore.  .  .  .  Abbe"  Quandieu  foresaw  it  and 
said  it.  It  is  not  true  that  he  fled  from  the  Church  in  any 
spirit  of  cowardice;  he  quitted  his  ministry  bleeding  and 
weeping,  and  it  is  in  grief  that  he  is  ending  a  life  of  misery 
and  bitterness.' 

By  a  rough  gesture  Gorgias  signified  that  he  did  not  in- 
tend to  argue.  With  his  glowing  eyes  gazing  far  away  into 
the  galling  memories  of  his  personal  experiences,  he  scarcely 
listened  to  Marc,  impatient  as  he  was  to  continue  his  own 
rageful  diatribe. 

'Good,  good,  I  say  what  I  think,'  he  resumed,  'but  I 
don't  prevent  you  from  thinking  whatever  you  please. 
.  .  .  There  are,  at  all  events,  other  imbeciles  and 
cowards  whom  you  won't  defend,  for  instance,  that  rascal 
Father  Th£odose,  the  mirror  of  the  devotees,  the  thieving 
cashier  of  heaven! ' 

Thereupon  Gorgias  assailed  the  superior  of  the  Capuchins 
with  murderous  fury.  He  did  not  blame  the  worship  of  St. 
Antony  of  Padua.  On  the  contrary  he  praised  it;  he  set 
all  his  hopes  in  miracles,  he  would  have  liked  to  have  seen 
the  whole  world  bringing  money  to  the  shrine  of  the  Saint 
in  order  that  the  latter  might  persuade  the  Deity  to  hurl  His 
thunderbolts  upon  the  cities  of  sin.  But  Father  The"o- 
dose  was  a  mere  conscienceless  mountebank,  who  amassed 
money  for  himself  alone,  and  gave  no  assistance  whatever 
to  the  afflicted  servants  of  God.  Though  hundreds  of  thou- 
sands of  francs  had  formerly  overflowed  from  his  collection 
boxes,  he  had  not  devoted  even  an  occasional  five-franc 
piece  to  render  life  a  little  less  hard  than  it  was  to  the  poor 
Brothers  of  the  Christian  Doctrine,  his  neighbours.  And 
now  that  the  gifts  he  received  were  dwindling  year  by  year 
his  avarice  was  even  greater.  He  had  refused  the  smallest 
alms  to  him,  Brother  Gorgias,  at  a  time  when  he  was  in  the 


508  TRUTH 

most  desperate  circumstances,  when,  indeed,  a  ten-franc 
piece  might  have  saved  his  life. 

They  all  abandoned  him,  yes,  all — not  only  that  lecherous 
money-mongering  Father  The"odose,  but  even  the  other,  the 
great  chief,  the  great  culprit,  who  was  as  big  a  fool  as  he 
was  a  rascal.  Then  Gorgias  blurted  out  the  name  of  Father 
Crabot  which  had  been  burning  his  lips.  Ah!  Father  Cra- 
bot,  Father  Crabot,  he  had  worshipped  him  in  former  times, 
he  had  served  him  on  his  knees  in  respectful  silence,  ready 
to  carry  his  devotion  to  the  point  of  crime.  He  had  then 
regarded  him  as  an  all-powerful,  able,  and  valiant  master, 
favoured  by  Jesus,  who  had  promised  him  eternal  victory 
in  this  world.  By  Father  Crabot's  side  he,  Gorgias,  had 
thought  himself  protected  from  the  wicked,  assured  of  suc- 
cess in  every  enterprise,  even  the  most  dangerous.  And 
yet  that  venerated  master  to  whom  he  had  dedicated  his 
life,  that  glorious  Father  Crabot,  now  denied  him  and  left 
him  without  shelter  and  without  a  crust.  He  did  worse 
indeed ;  he  cast  him  upon  the  waters  as  if  he  were  a  trouble- 
some accomplice,  whose  disappearance  was  desired.  Be- 
sides, had  he  not  always  displayed  the  most  monstrous 
egotism?  Had  he  not  previously  sacrificed  poor  Father 
Philibin,  who  had  lately  died  in  the  Italian  convent  where 
he  had  lingered,  virtually  dead,  for  many  years  already? 
Father  Philibin  had  been  a  hero,  a  victim,  who  had  in- 
variably obeyed  his  superior,  who  had  carried  devotion  so 
far  as  to  take  upon  his  shoulders  all  the  punishment  for  the 
deeds  which  had  been  commanded  of  him  and  which  he 
had  done  in  silence.  Yet  another  victim  was  that  halluci- 
nated Brother  Fulgence,  a  perfect  nincompoop  with  his 
excitable  sparrow's  brain,  but  who,  none  the  less,  had  not 
deserved  to  be  swept  away  into  the  nothingness  in  which, 
somewhere  or  other,  he  was  dying.  What  good  purpose 
had  been  served  by  all  that  villainy  and  ingratitude?  Had 
it  not  been  as  stupid  as  it  was  cruel  on  Father  Crabot's  part 
to  abandon  in  that  fashion  all  his  old  friends,  all  the  instru- 
ments of  his  fortune?  Had  not  his  own  position  been 
shaken  by  his  conduct  in  allowing  the  others  to  be  struck 
down?  And  had  he  never  thought  that  one  of  them  might 
at  last  grow  weary  of  it  all,  and  rise  up  and  cast  terrible 
truths  in  his  face? 

'Beneath  all  Crabot's  grand  manners,'  cried  Brother 
Gorgias  excitedly,  '  beneath  all  his  reputation  for  cleverness 
and  diplomatic  skill,  there  is  rank  stupidity.  He  must  be 


TRUTH  509 

quite  a  fool  to  treat  me  in  the  way  he  does.  But  let  him 
take  care,  let  him  take  care,  or  else  one  of  these  days,  be- 
fore long,  I  shall  speak  out! ' 

At  this,  Marc,  who  had  been  listening  with  passionate 
interest,  made  an  effort  to  hasten  the  other's  revelations: 
'  Speak  out?  What  have  you  to  say  then?  '  he  inquired. 

'  Nothing,  nothing,  there  are  only  some  matters  between 
him  and  me — I  shall  tell  them  to  God  alone,  in  a  confes- 
sion.' Then,  reverting  to  his  bitter  catalogue  of  accusa- 
tions, Gorgias  exclaimed:  'And,  to  finish,  there  's  that 
Brother  Joachim,  whom  they  have  set  at  the  head  of  our 
school  at  Maillebois  in  Brother  Fulgence's  place.  Joachim 
is  another  of  Father  Crabot's  creatures,  a  hypocrite,  chosen 
on  account  of  his  supposed  skill  and  artfulness — one  who 
imagines  himself  to  be  a  great  man  because  he  does  not  pull 
the  ears  of  the  little  vermin  entrusted  to  him.  You  know 
the  result — the  school  will  soon  have  to  be  closed  for  lack 
of  pupils!  If  the  wretched  offspring  of  men  are  to  grow  up 
fairly  well,  they  must  be  trained  by  kicks  and  blows,  as  God 
requires.  .  .  .  And — if  you  want  my  opinion — there  is 
only  one  priest  imbued  with  the  right  spirit  in  the  whole 
region,  and  that  is  your  Abbe  Cognasse.  He,  too,  went  to 
seek  advice  at  Valmarie,  and  they  nearly  rotted  him  as  they 
rotted  the  others,  by  advising  him  to  be  supple  and  crafty. 
But  he  fortunately  regained  possession  of  himself;  it  is  with 
stones  that  he  now  pursues  the  enemies  of  the  Church! 
That  is  the  right  course  for  the  real  saints  to  follow,  that  is 
the  way  in  which  God,  when  He  chooses  to  interfere,  will 
end  by  reconquering  the  world!  ' 

Thus  speaking,  Gorgias  raised  his  clenched  fists  and 
brandished  them  wildly,  vehemently,  in  that  usually  quiet 
classroom  where  the  little  lamp  shed  but  a  faint  glimmer  of 
light.  Then,  for  a  moment,  came  deep  silence,  amid  which 
one  only  heard  the  pouring  rain  pattering  on  the  window- 
panes. 

'Well,  at  all  events,'  said  Marc  with  a  touch  of  irony, 
'  God  seems  to  have  forsaken  and  sacrificed  you  even  as 
your  superiors  have  done.' 

Brother  Gorgias  glanced  at  his  wretched  clothes  and 
emaciated  hands  which  testified  to  his  sufferings.  '  It  is 
true,'  he  answered,  '  God  has  chastised  me  severely  for  my 
transgressions  and  for  those  of  others.  I  bow  to  His  will, 
He  is  working  my  salvation.  But  I  do  not  forget,  I  do  not 
forgive  the  others  for  having  aggravated  my  misery.  Ah, 


510  TRUTH 

the  bandits!  Have  they  not  condemned  me  to  the  most 
frightful  existence  ever  since  they  compelled  me  to  quit 
Maillebois?  It  is  in  misery  that  I  have  had  to  come  back 
here  to  endeavour  to  wring  from  them  the  crust  of  bread 
which  is  my  due!  ' 

He  was  unwilling  to  say  more  on  that  subject,  but  his 
tragic  story  could  be  well  divined  by  the  shudder  that  came 
over  him — the  shudder  of  a  wild  beast  driven  from  the 
woods  by  hunger.  The  Order,  no  doubt,  had  sent  him 
from  community  to  community,  the  poorest,  the  most  ob- 
scure, until  at  last  it  had  finally  cast  him  out  altogether  as 
being  by  far  too  compromising.  And  then  he  had  quitted 
his  gown  and  rolled  along  the  roads,  carrying  with  him  the 
stigma  attaching  to  a  disfrocked  cleric.  One  would  never 
know  through  what  distant  lands  he  had  roamed,  what  a  life 
of  privation  and  chance  he  had  led,  what  unacknowledge- 
able  adventures  he  had  met  with,  what  shameful  vices  he  had 
indulged  in :  one  could  only  read  a  little  of  all  that  on  the 
tanned  skin  of  his  eager  face,  in  the  depths  of  his  eyes 
which  glowed  with  suffering  and  hatred.  The  greater  part 
of  his  resources  must  certainly  have  come  from  his  former 
confederates,  who  had  wished  to  purchase  his  silence  and 
keep  him  at  a  distance.  Every  now  and  again,  when  he 
had  written  letter  upon  letter,  when  he  had  furiously  threat- 
ened crushing  revelations,  some  small  sum  had  been  sent  to 
him,  and  then  for  a  few  months  he  had  been  able  to  prolong 
the  wretched  life  he  led  as  a  waif  whom  all  rejected. 

But  at  last  a  time  had  come  when  he  had  no  longer  re- 
ceived any  answer  to  his  applications,  when  his  letters  and 
his  threats  had  remained  without  any  effect;  for  his  former 
superiors  had  grown  weary  of  his  voracious  demands,  and 
regarded  him,  perhaps,  as  being  no  longer  dangerous  after 
the  lapse  of  so  many  years.  He  himself  was  intelligent 
enough  to  understand  that  his  confessions  could  no  longer 
have  any  very  serious  consequences  for  his  accomplices,  but 
might  even  deprive  him  of  his  last  chance  of  extracting 
money  from  them.  Nevertheless  he  had  resolved  to  return 
and  prowl  around  Maillebois.  He  knew  the  Code,  he  was 
aware  that  the  law  of  limitation  covered  him.  And  thus  for 
long  months  he  had  been  living,  in  some  dark  nook,  on  the 
five-franc  pieces  which  he  wrung  from  the  fears  of  Simon's 
accusers,  who  still  trembled  at  the  thought  of  their  shameful 
victory  at  Rozan.  Yet  they  must  again  have  been  growing 
weary  of  his  persecution,  for  his  bitterness  was  too  great; 


TRUTH  511 

he  would  never  have  heaped  so  many  insults  upon  them  if 
they  had  let  him  dip  his  hands  in  their  purses,  the  previous 
day,  by  way  of  once  more  purchasing  his  silence. 

Marc  readily  understood  the  position.  Brother  Gorgias 
only  sprang  out  of  the  suspicious  darkness  in  which  he  con- 
cealed himself  when  he  had  spent  his  money  in  crapulous 
debauchery.  And  if  he  had  come  to  Jonville  that  winter 
night,  in  the  pouring  rain,  it  was  assuredly  because  his 
pockets  were  empty  and  because  he  expected  to  derive 
some  profit  from  that  visit.  But  what  profit  could  it  be? 
What  motive  lurked  beneath  his  long  and  furious  denuncia- 
tion of  the  men  of  whom,  according  to  his  own  account,  he 
had  only  been  a  docile  instrument? 

'  So  you  are  living  at  Maillebois? '  inquired  Marc,  whose 
curiosity  was  fully  awakened. 

'  No,  no,  not  at  Maillebois.     ...     I  live  where  I  can.' 

'  But  I  thought  I  had  already  seen  you  there  before  meet- 
ing you  on  the  Place  des  Capucins.  .  .  .  You  were  with 
one  of  your  former  pupils — Polydor,  I  fancy.' 

A  faint  smile  appeared  on  Brother  Gorgias's  ravaged  face. 
'Polydor,'  said  he,  'yes,  yes,  I  was  always  very  fond  of 
him.  He  was  a  pious  and  discreet  lad.  Like  myself  he 
has  suffered  from  the  maliciousness  of  men.  He  has  been 
accused  of  all  sorts  of  crimes,  cast  out  unjustly  by  people 
who  did  not  understand  his  nature.  And  I  was  glad  to 
meet  him  when  I  returned  here;  we  set  our  wretchedness 
together,  and  consoled  each  other,  abandoning  ourselves  to 
the  divine  arms  of  our  Lord.  .  .  .  But  Polydor  is 
young,  and  he  will  end  by  treating  me  as  the  others  have 
done.  For  a  month  past  I  have  been  looking  for  him:  he 
has  disappeared.  Ah!  everything  is  going  wrong,  there 
must  be  an  end  to  it  all! ' 

A  raucous  sigh  escaped  him,  and  Marc  shuddered,  for 
Gorgias's  manner  and  tone  as  he  referred  to  Polydor 
afforded  a  glimpse  of  yet  another  hell.  But  there  was  no 
time  for  reflection.  Drawing  nearer  to  the  schoolmaster 
the  disfrocked  brother  resumed:  '  Now,  listen  to  me,  Mon- 
sieur Froment;  I  have  had  enough  of  it,  I  have  come  to  tell 
you  everything.  .  .  .  Yes,  if  you  will  promise  to  listen 
to  me  as  a  priest  would  listen,  I  will  tell  you  the  truth,  the 
real  truth.  You  are  the  only  man  to  whom  I  ran  make 
such  a  confession  without  doing  violence  to  my  dignity  or 
pride,  for  you  alone  have  always  been  a  disinterested  and 
loyal  enemy.  ...  So  receive  my  confession,  on  the 


512  TRUTH 

one  understanding  that  you  will  keep  it  secret  until  I 
authorise  you  to  divulge  it.' 

But  Marc  hastily  interrupted  him:  '  No,  no,  I  will  not 
enter  into  such  a  compact.  I  have  done  nothing  to  provoke 
any  revelations  on  your  part;  you  have  come  here  of  your 
own  accord,  and  you  say  what  you  please.  Should  you 
really  place  the  truth  in  my  hands,  I  mean  to  remain  at 
liberty  to  make  use  of  it  according  as  my  conscience  may 
bid  me.' 

Brother  Gorgias  scarcely  hesitated.  '  Well,  let  it  be  so; 
it  is  in  your  conscience  that  I  will  confide,'  said  he. 

Nevertheless  he  did  not  immediately  speak  out.  Silence 
fell  once  more.  The  rain  was  still  streaming  down  the 
window  panes,  and  gusts  of  wind  howled  along  the  deserted 
streets,  while  the  flame  of  the  little  lamp  began  to  flare 
amid  the  vague  shadows  which  hovered  about  the  quiet 
room.  Marc,  gradually  growing  uncomfortable,  suffering 
from  all  the  abominable  memories  which  that  man's  presence 
aroused,  glanced  anxiously  at  the  door  behind  which  Gene- 
vieve  must  have  remained.  Had  she  heard  what  had  been 
said?  If  so  how  uncomfortable  must  the  stirring  up  of  all 
that  old  mud  have  made  her  feel  also! 

At  last,  after  long  remaining  silent  as  if  to  impart  yet 
more  solemnity  to  his  confession,  Brother  Gorgias  raised 
his  hand  towards  the  ceiling  in  a  dramatic  manner,  and 
after  a  fresh  interval  said  slowly,  in  a  rough  voice :  '  It  is 
true,  I  confess  it  before  God,  I  entered  little  Zephirin's 
room  on  the  night  of  the  crime !  ' 

At  this,  although  Marc  awaited  the  promised  confession 
with  a  good  deal  of  scepticism,  expecting  to  hear  merely 
some  more  falsehoods,  he  was  unable  to  overcome  a  great 
shudder,  a  feeling  of  horror,  which  made  him  spring  to  his 
feet.  But  Gorgias  quietly  motioned  him  to  his  chair  again. 

'I  entered  the  room,'  said  he,  'or  rather  I  leant  from 
outside  on  the  window-bar  at  about  twenty  minutes  past  ten 
o'clock,  before  the  crime.  And  that  is  what  I  wished  to 
tell  you,  in  order  to  relieve  my  conscience.  .  .  .  On 
leaving  the  Capuchin  Chapel  that  night  I  undertook  to 
escort  little  Polydor  to  the  cottage  of  his  father,  the  road- 
mender,  on  the  way  to  Jonville,  for  fear  of  any  mishap  be- 
falling the  lad.  We  left  the  chapel  at  ten  o'clock,  and  if  I 
took  ten  minutes  to  escort  Polydor  home  and  ten  minutes 
to  return,  it  must,  you  see,  have  been  about  twenty  minutes 
past  ten  when  I  again  passed  before  the  school.  As  I 


TRUTH  513 

crossed  the  little  deserted  square  I  was  surprised  to  see 
Zephirin's  window  lighted  up  and  wide  open.  I  drew  near, 
and  I  saw  the  dear  child  in  his  nightdress,  setting  out  some 
religious  prints,  which  some  of  his  companions  at  the  first 
Communion  had  given  him.  And  I  scolded  him  for  not 
having  closed  his  window,  for  the  first  passer-by  might  easily 
have  sprung  into  his  room.  But  he  laughed  in  his  pretty 
way,  and  complained  of  feeling  very  hot.  It  was,  as  you 
must  remember,  a  close  and  stormy  night.  .  .  .  Well, 
I  was  making  him  promise  that  he  would  do  as  I  told  him, 
and  go  to  bed  as  soon  as  possible,  when,  among  the  religious 
pictures  set  out  on  his  table,  I  saw  a  copy-slip  which  had 
come  from  my  class,  and  which  was  stamped  and  initialled 
by  me.  It  made  me  angry  to  see  it  there,  and  I  reminded 
Zephirin  that  the  boys  were  forbidden  to  take  away  any- 
thing belonging  to  the  school.  He  turned  very  red,  and 
tried  to  excuse  himself,  saying  that  he  had  taken  the  slip 
home  in  order  to  finish  an  exercise.  And  he  asked  me  to 
leave  the  slip  with  him,  promising  to  bring  it  back  the  next 
morning,  and  restore  it  to  me.  .  .  .  Then  he  closed 
his  window,  and  I  went  off.  That  is  the  truth,  the  whole 
truth,  I  swear  it  before  God! ' 

Marc,  who  had  now  recovered  his  calmness,  gazed  at 
Gorgias  fixedly,  endeavouring  to  conceal  his  impressions. 
'  You  are  quite  sure  that  the  boy  shut  his  window  when  you 
went  away? '  he  asked. 

'  He  shut  it,  and  I  heard  him  putting  up  the  shutter-bar.' 

'  Then  you  still  assert  that  Simon  was  guilty,  for  nobody 
could  have  got  in  from  outside;  and  you  hold  that  Simon, 
after  the  crime,  opened  the  shutters  again  in  order  to  cast 
suspicion  on  some  unknown  prowler? ' 

'  Yes,  it  is  still  my  opinion  that  Simon  was  the  culprit. 
But  there  is  also  this  chance,  that  Zephirin,  oppressed  by  the 
heat,  may  have  opened  the  window  again  after  I  had  gone." 

Marc  was  not  deceived  by  that  supposition,  which  was 
offered  him  as  a  guide  that  might  lead  to  a  new  fact.  He 
even  shrugged  his  shoulders,  feeling  that  as  Gorgias  still 
accused  another  of  his  crime,  his  pretended  confession  had 
little  value.  At  the  same  time,  however,  that  medley  of 
fact  and  fiction  cast  just  a  little  more  light  on  the  affair, 
and  this  Marc  desired  to  establish. 

'  Why  did  you  not  relate  at  the  Assizes  what  you  have  now 
stated  ? '  he  inquired.  'A  great  act  of  injustice  might  then 
have  been  avoided.' 

33 


514  TRUTH 

'  Why  I  did  not  relate  it? '  Gorgias  replied.  '  Why,  be- 
cause I  should  have  compromised  myself  to  no  good  pur- 
pose! My  own  innocence  would  have  been  doubted,  and 
besides,  I  was  then  already  convinced  of  Simon's  guilt  even 
as  I  am  now;  and  thus  my  silence  was  quite  natural.  .  .  . 
Moreover,  I  repeat  it,  I  had  seen  the  copy-slip  lying  on  the 
table.' 

'  Yes,  only  you  now  admit  that  it  came  from  your  school 
and  that  you  had  stamped  and  initialled  it  yourself.  You 
did  not  always  say  that,  remember.' 

'  Oh!  those  fools,  Father  Crabot  and  the  others,  imposed 
a  ridiculous  story  on  me;  and  to  prop  up  their  senseless 
theory  with  the  help  of  their  grotesque  experts  they  after- 
wards invented  the  still  more  foolish  idea  of  a  forged  stamp. 
For  my  part,  I  at  once  desired  to  admit  the  au- 
thenticity of  the  copy-slip,  which  was  self-evident.  But  I 
had  to  bow  to  their  authority,  accept  their  ridiculous  inven- 
tions, under  penalty  of  being  abandoned  and  sacrificed. 
.  You  saw  how  furious  they  became  before  the  trial 
at  Rozan,  when  I  ended  by  acknowledging  that  the  paraph 
was  mine.  They  wanted  to  save  that  unfortunate  Philibin ; 
they  fancied  they  were  clever  enough  to  spare  the  Church 
even  the  shadow  of  a  suspicion,  and  for  that  very  reason 
they  do  not  even  now  forgive  me  for  having  ceased  to  re- 
peat their  lies!  ' 

Then  Marc,  noticing  that  Gorgias  was  gradually  becom- 
ing exasperated,  said,  as  if  thinking  aloud  and  by  way  of 
spurring  him  on :  '  All  the  same,  it  is  very  strange  that  the 
copy-slip  should  have  been  on  the  child's  table.' 

'  Strange!  why?  It  often  happened  that  one  of  the  boys 
took  a  slip  away  with  him.  Little  Victor  Milhomme  had 
taken  one,  and  it  was  that  very  circumstance  that  made  you 
suspect  the  truth  as  to  the  origin  of  the  slip.  .  .  .  But 
do  you  still  accuse  me  of  being  the  murderer?  Do  you  still 
believe  that  I  walked  about  with  that  slip  in  my  pocket? 
Come,  is  it  reasonable — eh? ' 

Gorgias  spoke  with  such  jeering,  aggressive  violence,  his 
lips  twitching  the  while  with  that  rictus  which  disclosed  his 
wolfish  teeth,  that  Marc  slightly  lost  countenance.  In  spite 
of  his  conviction  of  the  brother's  guilt,  that  slip,  which  had 
come  nobody  knew  whence,  had  always  seemed  to  him  a 
very  obscure  feature  of  the  affair.  Even  as  the  Ignorantine 
constantly  repeated,  it  was  scarcely  likely  that  he  had  car- 
ried the  paper  in  his  pocket  that  evening  on  quitting  the 


TRUTH  515 

ceremony  at  the  Capuchin  Chapel.  Whence  had  it  come 
then?  How  was  it  that  Gorgias  had  found  it  mingled  with 
a  copy  of  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  ?  Marc  felt  that  if  he  had 
been  able  to  penetrate  that  mystery  the  whole  affair  would 
have  been  perfectly  clear.  To  conceal  his  perplexity  he 
tried  an  argument:  'It  was  n't  necessary  for  you  to  have 
the  slip  in  your  pocket,'  said  he,  'for  you  have  said  that 
you  saw  it  lying  on  the  table.' 

But  Brother  Gorgias  had  now  risen,  either  yielding  to  his 
usual  vehemence  or  playing  some  comedy  in  order  to  end 
the  interview,  which  was  not  taking  the  course  he  desired. 
Black  and  bent,  he  walked  up  and  down  the  shadowy  room, 
gesticulating  wildly. 

'  On  the  table,  yes,  of  course  I  saw  it  on  the  table!  If  I 
say  that,  it  is  because  I  have  nothing  to  fear  from  such  an 
admission.  You  suppose  me  to  be  guilty,  but  in  that  case 
do  you  imagine  I  should  give  you  a  weapon  by  telling  you 
where  I  took  the  slip !  .  We  say  it  was  on  the  table, 

eh?  So  it  would  follow  that  I  took  it  up,  and  took  a  news- 
paper also  out  of  my  pocket,  and  crumpled  it  up  with  the 
slip,  in  order  to  turn  both  into  a  gag.  What  an  operation 
— eh? — at  such  a  moment,  how  logical  and  simple  it  would 
have  been!  .  .  .  But  no,  no!  If  the  newspaper  was 
in  my  pocket  the  slip  must  have  been  there  also.  Prove 
that  it  was;  for  otherwise  you  have  nothing  substantial  and 
decisive  to  go  upon.  And  it  was  n't  in  my  pocket,  for  I 
saw  it  on  the  table,  I  swear  it  again  before  God !  ' 

Wildly,  savagely,  he  drew  near  to  Marc  and  cast  in  his 
face  those  words  in  which  one  detected  a  kind  of  audacious 
provocation,  compounded  of  scraps  of  truth,  impudently 
set  forth  in  the  shape  of  suppositions,  falsehoods  that  barely 
masked  the  frightful  scene  which  he  must  have  lived  afresh 
with  a  frightful,  demoniacal  delight. 

But  Marc,  cast  into  disturbing  perplexity,  feeling  that  he 
would  learn  nothing  useful  from  his  visitor,  had  also  de- 
cided to  end  the  interview.  '  Listen,'  said  he,  '  why  should 
I  believe  you?  You  come  here  and  you  tell  me  a  tale  which 
is  the  third  version  you  have  given  of  the  affair. 
At  the  outset  you  agreed  with  the  prosecution;  the  slip, 
you  said,  belonged  to  the  secular  school;  you  did  not  initial 
it;  it  was  Simon  who  had  done  so  in  order  to  cast  his  crime 
on  you.  Then,  on  the  discovery  of  the  stamped  corner 
torn  off  by  Father  Philibin,  you  felt  it  impossible  to  shelter 
yourself  any  longer  behind  the  stupid  report  of  the  experts; 


5l6  TRUTH 

you  admitted  that  the  initialling  was  your  work,  and  that 
the  slip  had  come  from  you.  At  present,  with  what  motive 
I  do  not  know,  you  make  a  fresh  confession  to  me;  you  as- 
sert that  you  saw  little  Z£phirin  in  his  room  a  few  minutes 
before  the  crime,  that  the  copy-slip  was  then  lying  on  his 
table,  that  you  scolded  him,  and  that  he  closed  his  shutters. 
.  Well,  think  it  over;  there  is  no  reason  why  I  should 
regard  this  version  as  final.  I  shall  wait  to  hear  the  plain 
truth,  if  indeed  it  ever  pleases  you  to  tell  it.' 

Pausing  in  his  stormy  perambulations,  Brother  Gorgias 
drew  up  his  gaunt  and  tragic  figure.  His  eyes  were  blazing, 
an  evil  laugh  distorted  his  face  once  more.  For  a  moment 
he  remained  silent.  Then  in  a  jeering  way  he  said:  'As 
you  choose,  Monsieur  Froment!  I  came  here  in  a  friendly 
spirit  to  give  you  some  particulars  about  the  affair,  which 
still  interests  you  as  you  have  not  renounced  the  hope  of 
getting  Simon  rehabilitated.  You  can  make  use  of  those 
particulars;  I  authorise  you  to  make  them  known.  And  I 
ask  you  for  no  thanks,  for  I  no  longer  expect  any  gratitude 
from  men.' 

Then  he  wrapped  himself  in  his  ragged  cloak,  and  went 
off  as  he  had  come,  opening  the  doors  himself,  and  giving 
never  a  glance  behind.  Outside  the  icy  rain  was  coming 
down  in  furious  squalls,  the  wind  filled  the  street  with  its 
howls,  and  Gorgias  vanished  like  a  ghost  into  the  depths  of 
the  lugubrious  darkness. 

Genevieve  had  now  opened  the  door  behind  which  she 
had  remained  listening.  Stupefied  by  all  she  had  heard  she 
let  her  arms  drop,  and  for  a  moment  remained  gazing  at 
Marc,  who  likewise  stood  there  motionless,  at  a  loss  whether 
to  laugh  or  to  feel  angry. 

'  He  is  mad,  my  friend,'  said  Genevieve.  '  If  I  had  been 
in  your  place  I  should  not  have  had  the  patience  to  listen  to 
him  so  long;  he  lies  as  he  has  always  lied!  '  Then,  as  Marc 
seemed  inclined  to  take  things  gaily,  she  continued:  '  No, 
no,  it  is  not  at  all  amusing.  The  revival  of  all  those  horrid 
things  has  made  me  feel  quite  ill  and  anxious  also,  for  I  do 
not  understand  what  can  have  been  his  purpose  in  coming 
here.  Why  did  he  make  that  pretended  confession?  Why 
did  he  select  you  to  hear  it? ' 

'  Oh!  I  think  I  know,  my  dear,'  Marc  answered.  '  In  all 
probability  Father  Crabot  and  the  others  no  longer  give  him 
a  copper,  that  is,  apart  from  some  petty  monthly  allowance 
which  they  may  have  arranged  to  make  him.  And  as  the 


TRUTH  517 

rascal  has  a  huge  appetite  he  tries  to  terrify  them  from  time 
to  time,  in  order  to  extract  some  big  sum  from  them.  I 
have  had  information;  they  have  done  their  utmost  to  in- 
duce him  to  leave  the  region.  Twice  already,  by  filling  his 
pockets  they  have  prevailed  on  him  to  do  so;  but  as  soon 
as  his  pockets  were  empty  he  came  back.  They  dare  not 
employ  the  police  in  the  affair,  otherwise  the  gendarmes 
would  have  rid  them  of  him  long  ago.  And  so,  once  again, 
as  they  have  refused  to  let  him  have  more  money,  he  wishes 
to  give  them  a  good  fright  by  threatening  to  tell  me  every- 
thing. And  he  has  told  me  just  a  little  truth  mixed  with  a 
great  deal  of  falsehood,  in  the  hope  that  I  may  speak  of  it, 
and  that  the  others  in  their  fright  may  pay  him  well  to  pre- 
vent him  from  telling  me  all  the  rest.' 

This  logical  explanation  restored  the  calmness  of  Gene- 
vieve,  who  merely  added:  'The  rest — the  full,  plain  truth 
— he  will  never  tell  it!  ' 

'  Who  knows? '  Marc  retorted.  '  His  craving  for  money 
is  great,  but  there  is  yet  more  hatred  in  his  heart.  And  he 
is  courageous;  he  would  willingly  risk  his  skin  to  revenge 
himself  on  those  old  accomplices  who  have  cowardly  for- 
saken him.  Moreover,  in  spite  of  all  his  crimes,  he  really 
belongs  to  his  Deity  of  extermination;  he  glows  with  a 
sombre,  devouring  faith,  which  would  prompt  him  to  mar- 
tyrdom if  he  only  thought  that  he  might  thereby  win  salva- 
tion and  cast  his  enemies  into  the  torments  of  helj.' 

'  Shall  you  try  to  make  any  use  of  what  he  told  you? ' 
Genevieve  inquired. 

'  No,  I  think  not.  I  shall  talk  it  over  with  Delbos;  but 
he,  I  know,  has  resolved  that  he  will  only  move  when  he 
has  a  certainty  to  act  upon.  .  .  .  Ah!  poor  Simon,  I 
despair  of  ever  seeing  him  rehabilitated;  I  have  become  so 
old!' 

All  at  once,  however,  the  new  fact,  awaited  for  so  many 
years,  became  manifest,  and  Marc  then  beheld  the  realisa- 
tion of  the  most  ardent  desire  of  his  life.  Delbos,  who 
placed  no  faith  in  any  help  from  Brother  Gorgias,  had  set 
all  his  hopes  on  the  Rozan  medical  man,  that  Dr.  Beau- 
champ,  a  juror  at  the  second  trial,  to  whom  Judge  Gragnon 
was  said  to  have  made  his  second  illegal  communication, 
and  who  was  reported  to  be  tortured  by  remorse.  This 
scent  Delbos  followed  with  infinite  patience,  having  a  watch 
kept  upon  the  doctor,  who  preserved  silence  in  compliance 
with  the  entreaties  of  his  wife,  a  very  pious  and  also  sickly 


518  TRUTH 

woman,  whose  death  would  probably  have  been  hastened 
by  any  scandal.  All  at  once  indeed  she  died,  and  Delbos 
then  no  longer  doubted  the  success  of  his  enterprise.  It 
took  him  another  six  months  to  perfect  his  arrangements; 
he  managed  to  enter  into  direct  relations  with  Beauchamp, 
whom  he  found  all  anxiety  and  indecision,  assailed  by  a 
variety  of  scruples.  But  at  last  the  doctor  made  up  his 
mind  to  hand  the  advocate  a  signed  statement  in  which  he 
related  how  one  day  a  friend,  acting  on  behalf  of  Gragnon, 
had  shown  him  the  pretended  confession  which  a  workman, 
dying  at  the  Beaumont  hospital,  was  said  to  have  made  to 
one  of  the  sisters — a  confession  in  which  this  man  acknow- 
ledged that  he  had  engraved  a  false  stamp  for  Simon,  the 
Maillebois  schoolmaster.  And  Beauchamp  added  that  this 
secret  communication  alone  had  convinced  him  of  the  guilt 
of  Simon,  whom  previously  he  had  been  disposed  to  acquit 
for  lack  of  all  serious  proof. 

Having  secured  this  decisive  statement  Delbos  did  not 
act  precipitately.  He  waited  a  little  longer.  He  gathered 
together  other  documents,  which  showed  that  Gragnon  had 
communicated  his  extravagant  forgery  to  other  jurors,  men 
of  the  most  amazing  credulity.  Equally  extraordinary  was 
it  to  find  that  the  ex-presiding  judge  had  dared  to  repeat 
the  trick  of  Beaumont,  carrying  a  gross  forgery  in  his  pocket, 
circulating  it  secretly  through  Rozan,  exploiting  human  im- 
becility with  the  most  sovereign  contempt.  And  twice  had 
the  trick  succeeded,  Gragnon  on  the  second  occasion  saving 
himself  from  the  galleys  by  sheer  criminal  audacity.  He 
was  now  beyond  the  reach  of  punishment,  for  he  had  lately 
died,  perishing  miserably,  quite  withered  away,  his  features 
furrowed,  it  seemed,  by  invisible  claws.  And  it  was  cer- 
tainly his  death  which  had  induced  Dr.  Beauchamp  to  speak 
out. 

Marc  and  David  had  long  thought  that  the  Simon  affair 
would  be  quite  settled  when  the  personages  compromised 
in  it  should  have  disappeared.  At  present  ex-investigating 
Magistrate  Daix  was  also  dead,  while  the  former  Procureur 
de  la  Re"publique,  Raoul  de  La  Bissonniere,  had  lately  been 
retired  with  the  grant  of  a  Commandership  of  the  Legion  of 
Honour.  Then  Counsellor  Guybaraud,  who  had  presided 
at  the  Assizes  at  Rozan,  having  been  stricken  with  hemi- 
plegia,  was  passing  away  between  his  confessor  and  a 
servant-mistress;  whereas  Pacard,  the  ex-demagogue  who 
in  spite  of  a  nasty  story  of  cheating  at  cards  had  managed 


TRUTH  519 

to  become  a  public  prosecutor,  had  quitted  the  magistracy 
to  take  up  somewhat  mysterious  duties  at  Rome  as  legal 
adviser  to  some  of  the  congregations.  Again,  at  Beaumont 
there  were  great  changes  in  the  political,  administrative, 
clerical,  and  teaching  worlds.  Other  men  had  succeeded 
Lemarrois,  Marcilly,  Hennebise,  Bergerot,  Forbes,  and 
Mauraisin.  Of  the  direct  accomplices  in  the  crime,  Father 
Philibin  had  died  far  away,  Brother  Fulgence  had  disap- 
peared, being  also  dead  perhaps,  in  such  wise  that  there 
only  remained  Father  Crabot,  the  great  chief.  But  even 
he  had  withdrawn  from  among  the  living,  cloistered,  it  was 
alleged,  in  some  lonely  cell,  where  he  was  spending  his  last 
years  in  great  penitence. 

And  thus  there  was  quite  a  new  social  atmosphere;  poli- 
tics had  altogether  changed,  men's  passions  were  no  longer 
the  same  when  Delbos,  having  at  last  collected  the  weapons 
he  desired,  brought  the  affair  forward  once  more  with 
masterly  energy.  Of  recent  years  he  had  risen  to  a  position 
of  influence  in  the  Chamber  of  Deputies,  so  he  took  his 
documents  straight  to  the  Minister  of  Justice  and  speedily 
prevailed  on  him  to  lay  the  new  fact  before  the  Court  of 
Cassation.  It  is  true  that  a  debate  on  the  subject  ensued 
the  very  next  day,  but  the  Minister  contented  himself  with 
stating  that  the  matter  was  purely  and  simply  a  legal  one, 
and  that  the  Government  could  not  allow  it  to  be  turned 
once  more  into  a  political  question.  And  then,  amid  the 
indifference  with  which  this  old  Simon  affair  was  now  re- 
garded, a  vote  of  confidence  in  the  Government  was  passed 
by  a  considerable  majority.  As  for  the  Court  of  Cassation, 
which  still  smarted  from  the  smack  it  had  received  at  Rozan, 
it  tried  the  case  with  extraordinary  despatch,  purely  and 
simply  annulling  the  Rozan  verdict  without  sending  Simon 
before  any  other  tribunal.  It  was  all,  so  to  say,  a  mere 
formality;  in  three  phrases  everything  was  effaced,  and 
justice  was  done  at  last. 

Thus,  then,  in  all  simplicity,  the  innocence  of  Simon  was 
recognised  and  proclaimed  amid  the  pure  glow  of  truth 
triumphant  after  so  many  years  of  falsehood  and  of  crime. 


Ill 

ON  the  morrow  of  the  court's  judgment  there  came  an 
extraordinary  revival  of  emotion  at  Maillebois. 
There  was  no  surprise,  for  those  who  now  believed 
in  Simon's  innocence  were  very  numerous;  but  the  material 
fact  of  that  decisive  legal  rehabilitation  upset  everybody. 
And  the  same  thought  came  to  men  of  the  most  varied  views. 
They  approached  one  another,  and  they  said: 

'  What !  can  no  possible  reparation  be  offered  to  that  un- 
fortunate man  who  suffered  so  dreadfully?  Doubtless 
neither  money  nor  honours  of  any  kind  could  indemnify 
him  for  his  horrible  martyrdom.  But  when  a  whole  people 
has  been  guilty  of  such  an  abominable  error,  when  it  has 
turned  a  fellow-being  into  such  a  pitiable,  suffering  creature, 
it  would  be  good  that  it  should  acknowledge  its  fault,  and 
confer  some  triumph  on  that  man  by  a  great  act  of  frank- 
ness, in  which  truth  and  justice  would  find  recognition.' 

From  that  moment,  indeed,  the  idea  that  reparation  was 
necessary  gained  ground,  spreading  by  degrees  through  the 
entire  region.  One  circumstance  touched  every  heart. 
While  the  Court  of  Cassation  was  examining  the  documents 
respecting  the  illegal  communication  made  at  Rozan,  old 
Lehmann,  the  tailor,  who  had  reached  his  ninetieth  year, 
lay  dying  in  that  wretched  house  of  the  Rue  du  Trou  which 
had  been  saddened  by  so  many  tears  and  so  much  mourn- 
ing. His  daughter  Rachel  had  hastened  from  her  Pyrenean 
retreat  in  order  that  she  might  be  beside  him  at  the  last 
hour.  But  every  morning,  by  some  effort  of  will,  the  old 
man  seemed  to  revive;  being  unwilling  to  die,  said  he,  so 
long  as  justice  should  not  have  been  done  to  the  honour  of 
his  son-in-law  and  his  grandchildren.  And,  indeed,  it  was 
only  on  the  night  of  the  day  when  the  news  of  the  acquittal 
reached  him  that  he  at  last  expired,  radiant  with  supreme 

joy- 
After  the  funeral  Rachel  immediately  rejoined  Simon  and 
David  in  their  solitude,  where  they  intended  to  remain  for 


TRUTH  521 

another  four  or  five  years,  when  perhaps  they  might  sell 
their  marble  quarry  and  liquidate  their  little  fortune.  And 
it  so  happened  that  the  old  house  of  the  Rue  du  Trou  was 
now  demolished, a  happy  inspiration  coming  to  the  Municipal 
Council  of  Maillebois  to  purify  that  sordid  district  of  the 
town  by  carrying  a  broad  thoroughfare  through  it,  and  lay- 
ing out  a  small  recreation-ground  for  the  working-class 
children.  Sarah,  whose  husband  S^bastien  had  now  been 
appointed  headmaster  of  one  of  the  Beaumont  schools,  had 
sold  the  tailoring  business  to  a  Madame  Savin,  a  relative  of 
those  Savins  who  in  former  times  had  pelted  her  brother 
Joseph  and  herself  with  stones;  and  thus  no  trace  remained 
of  the  spot  where  the  Simon  family  had  wept  so  bitterly  in 
the  distant  days,  when  each  letter  arriving  from  the  innocent 
prisoner  in  the  penal  settlement  yonder  had  brought  them 
fresh  torture.  Trees  now  grew  there  in  the  sunshine,  flowers 
shed  their  perfume  beside  the  lawns,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it 
were  from  that  health-bringing  spot  that  spread  the  covert 
remorse  of  Maillebois,  its  desire  to  repair  the  frightful  in- 
iquity of  the  past. 

Nevertheless,  things  slumbered  for  a  long  time  yet.  A 
period  of  four  years  went  by,  during  which  only  individual 
suggestions  were  made,  no  general  agreement  being  arrived 
at.  But  generation  was  following  generation;  after  the 
children  had  come  the  grandchildren,  and  then  the  great- 
grandchildren of  those  who  had  persecuted  Simon,  in  such 
wise  that  quite  a  new  population  ended  by  dwelling  in 
Maillebois.  Yet  it  was  necessary  for  the  great  evolution 
towards  other  social  conditions  to  be  entirely  accomplished, 
in  order  that  (he  seed  which  had  been  sown  should  yield  a 
harvest  of  citizens  freed  from  error  and  falsehood,  to  whom 
one  might  look  for  a  great  manifestation  of  equity. 

Meantime  life  continued,  and  the  valiant  workers  whose 
task  was  completed  made  way  for  their  children.  Marc 
and  Genevieve,  now  nearly  seventy  years  old,  retired,  and 
the  Jonville  schools  were  entrusted  to  their  son  Clement  and 
his  wife  Charlotte,  Hortense  Savin's  daughter,  who,  like  him- 
self, had  adopted  the  teaching  profession.  Mignot,  on  his 
side,  had  quitted  Le  Moreux  and  retired  to  Jonville,  in  order 
to  be  near  Marc  and  (ienevieve,  who  dwelt  in  a  small  house 
near  their  old  school.  Thus  the  village  held  quite  a  little 
colony  of  the  first  participators  in  the  great  enterprise,  for 
Salvan  and  Mademoiselle  Ma/.eline  were  still  alive,  enjoying 
a  smiling  and  kindly  old  age  Then,  at  Maillebois,  the 


522  TRUTH 

boys'  school  was  in  the  hands  of  Joseph,  and  the  girls' 
school  in  those  of  his  wife  Louise.  He  was  now  forty-four, 
she  two  years  younger;  and  they  had  a  big  son,  Francois, 
who,  in  his  twenty-second  year,  had  married  his  cousin 
The'rese,  the  daughter  of  Sebastien  and  Sarah,  by  whom  he 
had  a  beautiful  baby-girl  named  Rose,  now  barely  a  twelve- 
month old.  Joseph  and  Louise  were  bent  on  never  quitting 
Maillebois,  and  they  gently  chaffed  Sebastien  and  Sarah  re- 
specting the  honours  which  awaited  them;  for  there  was 
now  a  question  of  appointing  Sebastien  to  the  directorship 
of  the  Training  College  where  Salvan  had  worked  so  well. 
As  for  Franfois  and  The'rese,  who  by  hereditary  vocation 
had  also  adopted  the  scholastic  profession,  they  now  dwelt 
at  Dherbecourt,  where  both  had  become  assistant  teachers. 
And  what  a  swarming  of  the  sowers  of  truth  there  was  on 
certain  Sundays  when  the  whole  family  assembled  at  Jon- 
ville  round  the  grandparents,  Marc  and  Genevieve!  And 
what  fine,  bright  health  was  brought  from  Beaumont  by 
Sebastien  and  Sarah,  from  Maillebois  by  Joseph  and  Louise, 
from  Dherbecourt  by  Francois  and  The'rese,  who  came 
carrying  their  little  Rose;  while  at  Jonville  they  were  met  by 
Clement  and  Charlotte,  who  also  had  a  daughter,  Lucienne, 
now  a  big  girl,  nearly  seven  years  of  age !  And,  again,  what 
a  table  had  to  be  laid  for  that  gathering  of  the  four  genera- 
tions, particularly  when  their  good  friends  Salvan,  Mignot, 
and  Mademoiselle  Mazeline  were  willing  to  join  them  to 
drink  to  the  defeat  of  Ignorance,  the  parent  of  every  evil 
and  every  form  of  servitude! 

The  times  of  human  liberation,  which  had  been  so  long 
in  coming,  which  had  been  awaited  so  feverishly,  were  now 
being  brought  to  pass  by  sudden  evolutions.  A  terrible 
blow  had  been  dealt  to  the  Church,  for  the  last  Legislature 
had  voted  the  complete  separation  of  Church  and  State,1 
and  the  millions  formerly  given  to  the  priests,  who  had  em- 
ployed them  to  perpetuate  among  the  people  both  hatred  of 
the  Republic  and  such  abasement  as  was  suited  to  a  flock 
kept  merely  to  be  sheared,  would  now  be  better  employed 
in  doubling  the  salaries  of  the  elementary  schoolmasters. 
Thus  the  situation  was  entirely  changed :  the  schoolmaster 
ceased  to  be  the  poor  devil,  the  ill-paid  varlet,  whom  the 

1  It  will  be  understood  that  in  the  above  passage  M.  Zola  anticipates 
events  ;  but  it  may  be  remarked  that  the  separation  of  Church  and  State 
in  France  within  a  few  years  has  never  appeared^  more  likely  than  it 
does  n»vr  (1902-3). —  Trans. 


TRUTH  523 

peasant  regarded  with  so  much  contempt  when  he  thought 
of  the  well-paid  priest,  who  waxed  fat  on  surplice  fees  and 
the  presents  of  the  devout.  The  priest  ceased  to  be  a  func- 
tionary, drawing  pay  from  the  State  revenue,  supported 
both  by  the  prefect  and  by  the  bishop;  and  thus  he  lost  the 
respect  of  the  country-folk.  They  no  longer  feared  him; 
he  was  but  a  kind  of  chance  sacristan,  dependent  on  a  few 
remaining  believers,  who  from  time  to  time  paid  him  for  a 
Mass.  Again,  the  churches  ceased  to  be  State  institutions, 
and  became  theatres  run  on  commercial  lines,  subsisting  on 
the  payments  made  by  the  spectators,  the  last  admirers  of 
the  ceremonies  performed  in  them.  It  was  certain,  too, 
that  before  long  many  would  have  to  close  their  doors, 
business  already  being  so  bad  with  some  that  they  were 
threatened  with  bankruptcy.  And  nothing  could  be  more 
typical  than  the  position  of  that  terrible  Abbe"  Cognasse, 
whose  outbursts  of  passion  had  so  long  upset  Le  Moreux 
and  Jonville.  His  numerous  lawsuits  had  remained  famous; 
one  could  no  longer  count  the  number  of  times  he  had  been 
fined  for  pulling  boys'  ears,  kicking  women,  and  flinging 
stones  from  his  garden  wall  upon  those  passers  who  declined 
to  make  the  sign  of  the  Cross.  Nevertheless,  he  had  re- 
tained his  office  amid  all  the  worries  brought  upon  him  by 
the  citations  he  received,  for  he  was  virtually  irremovable 
and  exercised  a  paid  State  function.  When,  however,  in 
consequence  of  the  separation  of  Church  and  State,  he 
suddenly  became  merely  the  representative  of  an  opinion, 
a  belief,  when  he  ceased  to  receive  State  pay  to  impose  that 
belief  on  others,  he  lapsed  into  such  nothingness  that  people 
no  longer  bowed  to  him.  In  a  few  months'  time  he  found 
himself  almost  alone  in  his  church  with  his  old  servant  Pal- 
myre,  for,  however  much  the  latter  might  pull  the  bell-rope 
with  her  shrivelled  arms,  only  some  five  or  six  women  still 
came  to  Mass.  A  little  later  there  were  but  three,  and 
finally  only  one  came.  She,  fortunately,  persevered,  and  the 
Abbe"  was  pleased  to  be  able  to  celebrate  the  offices  in  her 
presence,  for  he  feared  lest  he  should  have  the  same  deplor- 
able experience  at  Jonville  as  he  had  encountered  at  Le 
Moreux.  During  a  period  of  three  months  he  had  gone 
every  Sunday  to  the  latter  village  in  order  to  say  Mass 
without  even  being  able  to  get  a  child  as  server,  so  that  he 
had  been  obliged  to  take  his  little  clerk  with  him  from  Jon- 
ville. And  during  those  three  months  nobody  had  come  to 
worship;  he  had  officiated  in  solitude  in  the  dank,  dark, 


524  TRUTH 

empty  church.  Naturally,  he  had  ended  by  no  longer  re- 
turning thither,  and  at  present  the  closed  church  was  rotting 
away  and  falling  into  ruins.  When,  indeed,  one  of  the 
functions  of  social  life  disappears,  the  building  and  the  man 
associated  with  it  become  useless  and  likewise  disappear. 
And  in  spite  of  the  violent  demeanour  which  Abb6  Cognasse 
still  preserved,  his  great  dread  was  that  he  might  see  his  last 
parishioner  forsake  him  and  his  church  closed,  crumbling 
away  amidst  an  invading  growth  of  brambles. 

At  Maillebois  the  separation  of  Church  and  State  had 
dealt  a  last  blow  to  the  once  prosperous  School  of  the  Chris- 
tian Brothers.  Victorious  over  the  secular  school  at  the 
time  of  the  Simon  case,  it  had  fallen  into  increasing  dis- 
favour as  the  truth  had  gradually  become  manifest.  But 
with  true  clerical  obstinacy  it  had  been  kept  in  existence 
even  when  only  four  and  five  pupils  could  be  recruited  for 
it;  and  the  new  laws  and  the  dispersion  of  the  community 
had  been  needed  to  close  its  doors.  The  Church  was  now 
driven  from  the  national  educational  service.  Henceforth 
to  the  sixteen  hundred  thousand  children  whom  year  by  year 
the  Congregations  had  poisoned,  a  system  of  purely  secular 
instruction  was  to  be  applied.  And  the  reform  had  spread 
from  the  primary  to  the  secondary  establishments.  Even 
the  celebrated  College  of  Valmarie,  already  weakened  by 
the  expulsion  of  the  Jesuits,  was  stricken  unto  death  by  the 
great  work  of  renovation  which  was  in  progress.  The  prin- 
ciple of  integral  and  gratuitous  instruction  for  all  citizens 
was  beginning  to  prevail.  Why  should  there  be  two 
Frances?  Why  should  there  be  a  lower  class  doomed  to 
ignorance,  and  an  upper  class  alone  endowed  with  instruc- 
tion and  culture?  Was  not  this  nonsense?  Was  it  not  a 
fault,  a  danger  in  a  democracy,  all  of  whose  children  should 
be  called  upon  to  increase  the  nation's  sum  of  intelligence 
and  strength?  In  the  near  future  all  the  children  of  France, 
united  in  a  bond  of  brotherliness,  would  begin  their  educa- 
tion in  the  primary  schools,  and  would  thence  pass  into  the 
secondary  and  the  superior  schools,  according  to  their  apti- 
tudes, their  choice,  and  their  tastes.  This  was  an  urgent 
reform,  a  great  work  of  salvation  and  glory,  the  necessity  of 
which  was  plainly  indicated  by  the  great  contemporary 
social  movement,  that  downfall  of  the  exhausted  bourgeoisie 
and  the  irresistible  rise  of  the  masses,  in  whom  quivered  the 
energies  of  to-morrow.  Henceforth  it  was  on  them  one 
would  have  to  draw;  and  among  them,  as  in  some  huge 


TRUTH  525 

reservoir  of  accumulated  force,  one  would  find  the  men  of 
sense,  truth,  and  equity,  who,  in  the  name  of  happiness  and 
peace,  would  build  the  city  of  the  future.  But,  as  a  first 
step,  the  bestowal  of  gratuitous  national  education  on  all 
the  children  would  finish  killing  off  those  pretended  free 
and  voluntary  schools,  those  hotbeds  of  clerical  infection, 
where  the  only  work  accomplished  was  a  work  of  servitude 
and  death.  And  after  the  Brothers'  school  of  Maillebois, 
now  empty  and  long  since  virtually  dead,  after  the  College 
of  Valmarie,  whose  buildings  and  grounds  were  shortly  to 
be  sold,  the  last  religious  communities  would  soon  disap- 
pear, together  with  all  their  teaching  establishments,  their 
factories  of  divers  kinds,  and  their  princely  domains,  which 
represented  millions  of  money  filched  from  human  imbecility 
and  expended  to  maintain  the  human  flock  in  subjection 
under  the  slaughterer's  knife. 

Nevertheless,  near  the  dismal  Brothers'  school  of  Maille- 
bois, where  the  shutters  were  closed  and  where  spiders  spun 
their  webs  in  the  deserted  classrooms,  the  Capuchin  com- 
munity maintained  its  chapel  dedicated  to  St.  Antony, 
whose  painted  and  gilded  statue  still  stood  there  erect  in  a 
place  of  honour.  But  in  vain  did  Father  Theodose,  now 
very  aged,  exert  himself  to  invent  some  more  extraordinary 
financial  devices.  The  zeal  of  the  masses  was  exhausted, 
and  only  a  few  old  devotees  occasionally  slipped  half-franc 
pieces  into  the  dusty  collection-boxes.  It  was  rumoured, 
indeed,  that  the  saint  had  lost  his  power.  He  could  no 
longer  even  find  lost  things.  One  day,  too,  an  old  woman 
actually  climbed  upon  a  chair  in  the  chapel  and  slapped  the 
cheeks  of  his  statue  because,  instead  of  healing  her  sick 
goat,  he  had  allowed  the  animal  to  die.  Briefly,  thanks  to 
public  good  sense,  aroused  at  last  by  the  acquirement  of  a 
little  knowledge,  one  of  the  basest  of  superstitions  was 
dying. 

Meantime,  at  the  ancient  and  venerable  parish  church  of 
St.  Martin's,  Abbe"  Coquard,  encountering  much  the  same 
experience  as  Abbe"  Cognasse  at  Jonville,  found  himself 
more  and  more  forsaken,  in  such  wise  that  it  seemed  as  if 
he  would  soon  officiate  in  the  solitude  and  darkness  of  a 
necropolis.  Unlike  Cognasse,  however,  he  evinced  no  vio- 
lence. Rigid,  gloomy,  and  silent,  he  seemed  to  be  leading 
religion  to  the  grave,  preserving  the  while  a  sombre  stub- 
bornness, refusing  to  concede  anything  whatever  to  the  im- 
pious men  of  the  age.  In  his  distress  he  more  particularly 


526  TRUTH 

sought  refuge  in  the  worship  of  the  Sacred  Heart,  decorat- 
ing his  church  with  all  the  flags  which  the  neighbouring 
parishes  refused  to  keep — large  red,  white,  and  blue  flags, 
on  which  huge  gory  hearts  were  embroidered  in  silk  and 
gold.  One  of  his  altars,  too,  was  covered  with  other  hearts 
— of  metal,  porcelain,  goffered  leather,  and  painted  mill- 
board. Of  all  sizes  were  these,  and  one  might  have  thought 
them  just  plucked  from  some  bosom,  for  they  seemed  to  be 
still  warm,  to  palpitate  and  shed  tears  of  blood,  in  such  wise 
that  the  altar  looked  like  some  butcher's  gory  stall.  But 
that  gross  re-incarnation  no  longer  touched  the  masses, 
which  had  learnt  that  a  people  stricken  by  disaster  raises 
itself  afresh  by  work  and  reason,  and  not  by  penitence  at 
the  feet  of  monstrous  idols.  As  religions  grow  old  and  sink 
into  carnal  and  base  idolatries  they  seem  to  rot  and  fritter 
away  in  mouldiness.  If  the  Roman  Church,  however,  was 
thus  at  the  last  gasp,  it  was,  as  Abb£  Quandieu  had  said, 
because  it  had  virtually  committed  suicide  on  the  day  when 
it  had  become  an  upholder  of  iniquity  and  falsehood.  How 
was  it  that  it  had  not  foreseen  that  by  siding  with  liars  and 
forgers  it  must  disappear  with  them,  and  share  the  shame 
of  their  infamy  on  the  inevitable  day  when  the  innocent  and 
the  just  would  triumph  in  the  full  sunlight?  Its  real  master 
was  no  longer  the  Jesus  of  innocence,  of  gentleness  and 
charity;  it  had  openly  denied  Him,  driven  Him  from  His 
temple;  and  all  it  retained  was  that  heart  of  flesh,  that 
barbarous  fetish  with  which  it  hoped  to  influence  the 
sick  nerves  of  the  poor  in  spirit.  Laden  with  years  and 
bitterness,  Abb£  Quandieu  had  lately  passed  away  repeat- 
ing: '  They  have  for  the  second  time  condemned  and 
crucified  the  Lord — the  Church  will  die  of  it.'  And  dying 
it  was. 

Moreover,  it  was  not  passing  away  alone ;  the  aristocratic 
and  bourgeois  classes,  on  which  it  had  vainly  sought  to  lean, 
were  collapsing  also.  All  the  ancient  noble  and  military 
forces,  even  the  financial  powers,  were  collapsing,  stricken 
with  madness  and  impotence,  since  the  reorganisation  of 
the  conditions  of  work  had  been  leading  to  an  equitable 
distribution  of  the  national  wealth.  Some  characteristic 
incidents  which  occurred  at  La  De"sirade  showed  what  a 
wretched  fate  fell  on  the  whilom  rich  and  powerful,  whose 
millions  flowed  away  like  water.  Hector  de  Sanglebceuf 
lost  his  seat  in  the  Chamber  when  the  electorate,  enlight- 
ened and  moralised  by  the  new  schools,  at  last  rid  itself  of 


TRUTH  527 

all  reactionary  and  violent  representatives.  But  a  greater 
misfortune  was  the  death  of  the  Marchioness  de  Boise,  that 
intelligent  and  broad-minded  woman  who  had  so  long  pro- 
moted prosperity  and  peace  at  La  D^sirade.  When  she  was 
gone  the  vain  and  foolish  Sangleboeuf  went  altogether  wrong, 
becoming  a  gambler,  losing  huge  sums  at  play,  and  descend- 
ing to  ignoble  amours ;  with  the  result  that  he  was  one  day 
brought  home  beaten  unmercifully — so  battered,  indeed, 
that  three  days  later  he  died ;  no  complaint,  however,  being 
lodged  with  the  authorities,  for  fear  of  all  the  mud  which 
would  soil  his  memory  if  the  real  facts  of  his  death  were 
brought  to  light. 

His  wife,  the  once  beautiful  and  indolent  L£a,  the  pious 
and  ever  sleepy  Marie  of  later  times,  then  remained  alone 
amid  the  splendours  of  that  large  estate.  When  her  father, 
Baron  Nathan,  the  millionaire  Jew  banker,  suddenly  died 
after  being  confined  by  paralysis  to  his  sumptuous  mansion 
in  the  Champs  Elys£es,  he  had  long  ceased  to  see  her;  and 
he  left  her  as  little  as  possible  of  his  fortune,  slices  of  which 
had  already  gone  to  all  sorts  of  aristocratic  charitable  enter- 
prises, and  even  to  certain  ladies  of  society  who,  during  the 
final  years  of  his  life,  had  procured  him  the  illusion  of 
imagining  that  he  had  become  really  one  of  their  set,  and 
was  quite  cleansed  of  all  his  Jewry.  However,  his  supine 
and  indolent  daughter,  who  had  never  known  a  passion  in 
her  life,  not  even  one  for  money,  paid  due  honour  to  his 
memory,  even  ordering  Masses  to  be  said  for  his  soul,  by 
way  of  compelling  heaven  to  admit  him  within  its  precincts; 
for,  as  she  often  repeated,  he  had  rendered  quite  enough 
services  to  Catholicism  to  be  entitled  to  a  place  on  the 
Deity's  right  hand.  And  now,  having  no  children,  L£a  led 
a  lonely  life  at  La  De"sirade,  which  remained  empty  and 
deathly,  enclosed  on  every  side  by  walls  and  railings,  which 
shut  out  the  public  as  if  it  were  some  forbidden  paradise. 
Yet  there  were  rumours  to  the  effect  that,  on  the  closing  of 
the  College  of  Valmarie,  the  Countess  had  granted  an  asylum 
to  her  old  friend  Father  Crabot,  who  had  now  reached  a 
very  great  age.  His  removal  to  La  D^sirade  was  said  by 
some  to  be  a  mere  change  of  cell,  for  in  an  ascetic  spirit  he 
was  content  to  occupy  a  little  garret  formerly  assigned  to  a 
servant,  and  furnished  with  merely  an  iron  bedstead,  a  deal 
table,  and  a  rush-seated  chair.  But  he  none  the  less  reigned 
over  the  estate,  as  if  he  were  its  sovereign  master;  the  only 
visitors  being  a  few  priests  and  other  clerics,  who  came  to 


528  TRUTH 

take  counsel  of  him,  and  whose  gowns  might  be  seen  oc- 
casionally gliding  between  the  clumps  of  verdure  or  past  the 
marble  basins  and  their  plashing  waters.  Though  his  nine- 
tieth year  was  past,  Crabot,  ever  a  conqueror  of  women,  a 
bewitcher  of  pious  souls,  repeated  the  triumphant  stroke  of 
his  earlier  days.  He  had  lost  Valmarie,  that  royal  gift, 
which  he  had  owed  to  the  love  of  the  Countess  de  Qu£de- 
ville,  but  he  won  La  De*sirade  from  the  good  grace  of  that 
ever-beautiful  Le"a,  whom  he  so  fervently  called  '  my  sister 
Marie  in  Jesus  Christ.'  As  manager  and  almoner  he  set 
his  hands  on  her  fortune,  financing  all  sorts  of  religious 
enterprises,  and  subscribing  lavishly  to  the  funds  which  the 
reactionary  parties  established  for  the  purpose  of  carrying 
on  their  desperate  campaign  against  the  Republic  and  its 
institutions.  And  thus,  when  the  Countess  was  found  dead 
on  her  couch  one  evening,  looking  as  if  in  her  indolence  she 
had  just  fallen  asleep,  she  was  ruined;  her  millions  had  all 
passed  into  the  cash-boxes  of  the  Black  Band,  and  there 
only  remained  the  estate  of  La  De"sirade,  which  was  willed 
to  Father  Crabot  on  the  one  condition  that  he  should  there 
establish  some  such  Christian  enterprise  as  he  might  choose 
to  select. 

But  these  were  merely  the  last  convulsions  of  an  expiring 
world.  All  Maillebois  was  now  passing  into  the  hands  of 
those  Socialists  whom  the  pious  dames  of  other  times  had 
pictured  as  bandits,  cut-throats,  and  footpads.  That  whilom 
clerical  centre  had  now  gone  so  completely  over  to  the  cause 
of  reason  that  not  a  single  reactionary  member  remained  in 
its  Municipal  Council.  Both  Philis,  once  the  priests'  mayor, 
and  Darras,  the  so-called  traitors'  mayor,  were  dead,  and 
the  latter,  who  was  remembered  as  a  man  of  weak,  timorous, 
hesitating  mind,  had  been  replaced  by  a  mayor  of  great  good 
sense  and  industrious  energy;  this  being  Jules  Savin,  the 
younger  brother  of  the  twins,  those  mediocrities,  Achille 
and  Philippe.  Jules,  after  marrying  a  peasant  girl  named 
Rosalie  Bonin,  had  worked  most  courageously,  in  fifteen 
years  establishing  an  admirable  model  farm,  which  had 
revolutionised  the  agricultural  methods  of  the  region  and 
greatly  increased  its  wealth.  He  was  now  barely  more  than 
forty  years  old,  and  rather  stubborn  by  nature,  for  he  only 
yielded  to  substantial  arguments  which  tended  to  the  gen- 
eral good.  And  it  was  under  his  presidency  that  the 
Municipal  Council  at  last  found  itself  called  upon  to  ex- 
amine a  scheme  for  offering  some  public  reparation  to 


TRUTH  529 

Simon — that  idea  which  had  slumbered  for  a  few  years,  and 
which  now  awoke  once  more. 

The  subject  had  frequently  been  mentioned  to  Marc, 
who,  indeed,  could  never  come  to  Maillebois  without  en- 
countering somebody  who  spoke  to  him  about  it.  In  this 
respect  he  was  particularly  moved  one  day  when  he  hap- 
pened to  meet  Adrien  Doloir,  a  son  of  his  former  pupil 
Auguste  by  his  wife  Angele.  Adrien,  after  studying  suc- 
cessfully under  Joulic,  had  become  an  architect  of  great 
merit,  and  though  barely  eight  and  twenty  years  of  age,  had 
been  lately  elected  to  the  Municipal  Council;  of  which,  in- 
deed, he  was  the  youngest  member,  one  whose  schemes 
were  said  to  be  somewhat  bold,  though  none  the  less 
practical. 

'  Ah !  my  dear  Monsieur  Froment,  how  pleased  I  am  to 
meet  you ! '  he  exclaimed  as  he  accosted  Marc.  '  It  so 
happens  that  I  wished  to  go  over  to  Jonville  to  speak  to 
you.' 

Like  all  the  young  men  of  the  new  generation,  who  loved 
and  venerated  Marc  as  a  patriarch,  as  one  of  the  great  work- 
ers of  the  heroic  times,  Adrien  addressed  him  most  defer- 
entially, standing  uncovered,  with  his  hat  in  his  hand. 
Personally,  he  had  only  been  a  pupil  of  Marc  for  a  very 
brief  period,  when  he  was  very  young  indeed;  but  his 
brother  and  his  uncles  had  all  grown  up  in  the  old  master's 
class. 

'  What  do  you  desire  of  me,  my  dear  lad  ? '  inquired  Marc, 
who  felt  both  brightened  and  moved  whenever  he  met  any 
of  his  former  boys  or  their  children. 

'  Well,  it  is  like  this.  Can  you  tell  me  if  it  is  true  that 
the  Simon  family  will  soon  return  to  Maillebois  ?  It  is  said 
that  Simon  and  his  brother  David  have  decided  to  quit  the 
Pyrenees  and  settle  here  again.  .  .  .  Is  it  true  ?  You 
must  be  well  acquainted  with  their  views.' 

'  Such  is  certainly  their  intention,'  Marc  responded  with 
his  pleasant  smile.  '  But  I  do  not  think  one  can  expect 
them  till  next  year;  for,  though  they  have  found  a  purchaser 
for  their  marble  quarry,  they  are  to  carry  it  on  for  another 
twelvemonth.  Besides,  a  variety  of  matters  will  have  to  be 
settled,  and  they  themselves  cannot  yet  tell  exactly  how  and 
when  they  will  install  themselves  here.' 

'  But  if  we  have  only  a  year  before  us,'  exclaimed  Adrien 
with  sudden  excitement,  '  we  shall  barely  have  the  necessary 
time  for  the  realisation  of  a  plan  I  have  formed.  »  .  . 


530  TRUTH 

I  wish  to  submit  it  to  you  before  doing  anything  decisive. 
What  day  would  be  convenient  for  me  to  call  on  you  at 
Jonville  ? ' 

Marc,  who  intended  to  spend  the  day  at  Maillebois  with 
his  daughter  Louise,  pointed  out  that  it  would  be  preferable 
to  profit  by  this  opportunity,  and  Adrien  assenting,  it  was 
eventually  arranged  that  he  should  call  at  the  latter's  house 
in  the  afternoon.  This  house  was  a  pleasant  dwelling, 
built  by  Adrien  himself  on  one  of  the  fields  of  the  farm 
which  had  belonged  to  the  old  Bongards,  in  the  outskirts  of 
Maillebois.  They  had  long  been  dead,  and  the  property 
had  remained  in  the  hands  of  Fernand,  the  father  of  Claire, 
to  whom  Adrien  was  married.  Thus  many  memories  arose 
in  Marc's  mind  when,  with  a  still  firm  and  brave  step,  he 
walked  past  the  old  farm-buildings  on  his  way  to  the  archi- 
tect's little  house.  Had  he  not  repaired  to  that  same  spot 
forty  years  previously — on  the  very  day,  indeed,  of  Simon's 
arrest  —  with  the  object  of  collecting  information  in  his 
friend's  favour  ?  In  imagination  Marc  again  accosted  Bon- 
gard,  the  stoutly  built  and  narrow-minded  peasant,  and  his 
bony  and  suspicious  wife,  and  found  them  both  stubbornly 
determined  to  say  nothing,  for  fear  lest  they  might  com- 
promise themselves.  He  well  remembered  that  he  had 
been  unable  to  extract  anything  from  them,  incapable  as 
they  were  of  any  act  of  justice,  since  they  knew  nothing  and 
would  learn  nothing,  being,  so  to  say,  only  so  much  brute 
matter  steeped  in  a  thick  layer  of  ignorance. 

With  a  sigh,  Marc  passed  on  and  rang  at  the  gate  of 
Adrien's  house.  The  young  architect  was  awaiting  him 
under  an  old  apple  tree,  whose  strong  branches,  laden  with 
fruit,  sheltered  a  few  garden  chairs  and  a  table.  'Ah,  mas- 
ter! '  Adrien  exclaimed,  '  what  an  honour  you  do  me  by 
coming  to  sit  here  for  a  little  while !  But  I  have  another 
favour  to  ask  of  you.  You  must  kiss  my  little  Georgette, 
for  it  will  bring  her  good  luck!  ' 

Beside  Adrien  was  Claire,  his  wife,  a  smiling  blonde, 
scarcely  in  her  twenty-fourth  year,  with  a  limpid  face  and 
eyes  all  intelligence  and  kindness.  It  was  she  who  pre- 
sented the  little  girl,  a  pretty  child,  fair  like  her  mother, 
and  already  very  knowing  for  her  five  years. 

'  You  must  remember,  my  treasure,  that  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment  has  kissed  you,  for  it  will  make  you  glorious  all  your 
life!' 

'  Oh,  I  know,  mamma !     I  often  hear  you  talk  of  him, ' 


TRUTH  531 

said  Georgette.  '  It  is  as  if  a  little  of  the  sun  came  down 
to  see  me.' 

At  this  the  others  began  to  laugh;  but  all  at  once  Claire's 
father  and  mother,  Fernand  Bongard  and  his  wife  Lucille, 
made  their  appearance,  having  heard  that  the  old  school- 
master intended  to  call,  and  wishing  to  show  him  some 
politeness.  Although  Fernand,  with  his  hard  nut,  had 
been  anything  but  a  satisfactory  pupil  in  bygone  years, 
Marc  was  pleased  to  see  him  once  more.  The  farmer,  now 
near  his  fiftieth  year,  still  looked  very  dull  and  heavy,  as 
if  he  were  scarcely  awake,  and  his  manner  remained  an 
uneasy  one. 

'Well,  Fernand,'  Marc  said  to  him,  'you  ought  to  be 
pleased ;  this  has  been  a  good  year  for  the  grain  crops. ' 

'  Yes,  Monsieur  Froment,  there  's  some  truth  in  that. 
But  the  year  's  never  a  really  good  one.  When  things  go 
well  in  one  respect  they  go  badly  in  another.  And,  be- 
sides, I  never  had  any  luck,  you  know. ' 

His  wife,  whose  mind  was  sharper  than  his,  thereupon 
ventured  to  intervene.  '  He  says  that,  Monsieur  Froment, 
because  he  always  used  to  be  the  last  of  his  class,  and  be- 
cause he  imagines  that  a  spell  was  cast  on  him  by  some 
gipsy  when  he  was  quite  a  little  child.  A  spell,  indeed! 
As  if  there  were  any  sense  in  such  an  idea!  It  would  be 
different  if  he  believed  in  the  devil,  for  there  is  a  devil  sure 
enough.  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire,  whose  best  pupil  I  was, 
showed  him  to  me  one  day,  a  short  time  before  my  first 
Communion.' 

Then,  as  Claire  made  merry  over  this  statement,  and 
even  little  Georgette  laughed  very  irreverently  at  the  idea 
of  there  being  any  such  thing  as  a  devil,  Lucille  continued: 
'Oh!  I  know  that  you  believe  in  nothing.  None  of  the 
young  folks  of  nowadays  have  any  religious  principles  left. 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline  made  strong-minded  women  of  you 
all.  Nevertheless,  one  evening,  as  I  well  remember,  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire  showed  us  a  shadow  passing  over  the 
wall,  and  told  us  it  was  the  devil.  And  it  was,  indeed ! ' 

Adrien,  somewhat  embarrassed  by  his  mother-in-law's 
chatter,  now  interrupted  her,  and  addressed  Marc  on  the 
subject  of  his  visit.  They  had  all  seated  themselves,  Claire 
taking  Georgette  on  her  lap,  while  her  father  and  mother 
kept  a  little  apart  from  the  others,  the  former  smoking  his 
pipe  and  the  latter  knitting  a  stocking. 

'  Well,  master,  this  is  the  question,'  said  Adrien.     '  Many 


532  TRUTH 

young  people  of  the  district  feel  that  great  dishonour  will 
rest  on  the  name  of  Maillebois  as  long  as  the  town  has  not 
repaired,  as  well  as  it  can,  the  frightful  iniquity  which  it 
allowed,  and  in  which,  indeed,  it  became  an  accomplice, 
when  Simon  was  condemned.  His  legal  acquittal  does  not 
suffice ;  for  us — the  children  and  grandchildren  of  the  per- 
secutors— it  is  a  duty  to  confess  and  efface  the  transgression 
of  our  forerunners.  Yesterday  evening,  at  my  father's 
house,  on  seeing  my  grandfather  and  my  uncles  there,  I 
again  asked  them :  ' '  How  was  it  that  you  ever  allowed  such 
stupid  and  monstrous  iniquity,  when  the  exercise  of  a  little 
reason  ought  to  have  sufficed  to  prevent  it  ?  "  And,  as 
usual,  they  made  vague  gestures  and  answered  that  they 
did  not  know,  that  they  could  not  know.' 

Silence  fell,  and  all  eyes  turned  towards  Fernand,  who 
belonged  to  the  incriminated  generations.  But  he  likewise 
rid  himself  of  the  question  by  taking  his  pipe  from  his 
mouth  and  gesticulating  in  an  embarrassed  way,  while  he 
remarked:  '  Well,  to  be  sure,  we  did  n't  know — how  could 
we  have  known  ?  My  father  and  mother  could  scarcely  sign 
their  names,  and  they  were  not  so  imprudent  as  to  meddle 
in  their  neighbours'  affairs,  for  they  might  have  got  pun- 
ished for  it.  And  though  I  had  learnt  rather  more  than 
they  had,  I  was  n't  learned  by  any  means;  and  so  I  dis- 
trusted the  whole  business,  for  a  man  does  not  care  to  risk 
his  skin  and  his  money  when  he  feels  he  is  ignorant. 
.  .  .  To  you  young  men  nowadays  it  seems  very  easy  to 
be  brave  and  wise,  because  you  've  been  well  taught.  But 
I  should  have  liked  to  have  seen  you  as  we  were — with  no 
means  of  telling  right  from  wrong,  with  our  minds  at  sea 
amid  a  lot  of  affairs  in  which  nobody  could  distinguish 
anything  certain." 

'  That  's  true,'  said  Lucille.  '  I  never  thought  myself  a 
fool,  but  all  the  same  I  could  not  understand  much  of  that 
business,  and  I  tried  not  to  think  of  it,  for  my  mother  was 
always  repeating  that  poor  folk  ought  not  to  meddle  with 
the  affairs  of  the  rich,  unless  they  wanted  to  get  poorer  still. ' 

Marc  had  listened  with  silent  gravity.  All  the  past  came 
back:  he  heard  old  Bongard  and  his  wife  refuse  to  answer 
him,  like  the  illiterate  peasants  they  were,  whose  one  desire 
was  to  continue  toiling  and  moiling  in  quietude;  and  he 
also  remembered  Fernand's  demeanour  on  the  morrow  of 
the  trial  at  Rozan,  when  he  had  still  shrugged  his  shoulders, 
still  persisted  in  his  desire  to  know  nothing.  How  many 


TRUTH  533 

years  and  what  prolonged  teaching  of  human  reason  and 
civic  courage  had  been  needed  before  a  new  generation  had 
at  last  opened  its  eyes  to  truth,  dared  to  recognise  and 
admit  it!  And  as  Marc  looked  at  Fernand  he  began  to 
nod,  as  if  to  say  that  he  thought  the  farmer's  excuses  good 
ones;  for  he  was  already  inclined  to  forgive  those  persecu- 
tors whose  ignorance  had  been  the  chief  cause  of  their 
crime.  And  he  ended  by  smiling  at  Georgette,  in  whom, 
on  the  other  hand,  the  future  seemed  to  be  flowering,  as  she 
sat  there  with  her  beautiful  eyes  wide  open  and  her  keen 
ears  on  the  alert,  waiting,  one  might  have  thought,  for  some 
fine  story. 

'And  so,  master,'  Adrien  resumed,  '  my  plan  is  a  very 
simple  one.  As  you  are  aware,  some  great  improvements 
have  been  effected  at  Maillebois  lately,  with  the  view  of 
rendering  the  old  quarter  of  the  town  more  salubrious.  An 
avenue  has  replaced  those  sewers,  the  Rue  Plaisir  and  the 
Rue  Fauche,  while  on  the  site  of  the  filthy  Rue  du  Trou  is 
a  recreation-ground,  which  the  children  of  the  neighbour- 
hood fill  with  their  play  and  their  laughter.  Well,  among 
the  building  land  in  front  of  that  square  is  the  very  spot  on 
which  stood  old  Lehmann's  wretched  house,  that  house  of 
mourning,  which  our  forerunners  used  to  stone.  It  is  my 
idea,  then,  to  propose  to  the  Municipal  Council  the  erection 
of  a  new  house  on  that  site — not  a  palace,  but  a  modest, 
bright,  cheerful  dwelling,  which  might  be  offered  to  Simon, 
so  that  he  might  end  his  days  in  it  encompassed  by  the  re- 
spect and  affection  of  everybody.  The  gift  would  have  no 
great  pecuniary  value — it  would  simply  represent  delicate 
and  brotherly  homage.' 

Tears  had  risen  to  the  eyes  of  Marc,  who  was  greatly 
touched  by  the  kind  thought  thus  bestowed  on  his  old 
friend,  the  persecuted,  innocent  man. 

'  Do  you  approve  of  my  idea  ? '  inquired  Adrien,  who  on 
his  side  was  stirred  by  the  sight  of  Marc's  emotion. 

The  old  schoolmaster  rose  and  embraced  him :  '  Yes,  my 
lad,  I  approve  of  it,  and  I  owe  you  one  of  the  greatest  joys 
of  my  life.' 

'  Thank  you,  master.  But  that  is  not  everything.  Wait 
a  moment.  I  wish  to  show  you  a  plan  of  the  house,  which 
I  have  already  prepared,  for  I  should  like  to  direct  the  work 
gratuitously,  and  I  feel  certain  that  I  should  find  contrac- 
tors and  men  prepared  to  undertake  the  building  at  very  low 
rates. ' 


534  TRUTH 

He  withdrew  for  a  moment,  and  on  returning  with  the 
plan  he  spread  it  out  upon  the  garden-table,  under  the  old 
apple  tree.  And  everybody  approached  and  leant  over  to 
examine  it.  The  house,  such  as  it  had  been  depicted,  was, 
indeed,  a  very  simple  but  also  a  very  pleasant  one,  two 
storeys  high,  with  a  white  frontage,  and  a  garden  enclosed 
by  some  iron  railings.  Above  the  entrance  a  marble  slab 
was  figured. 

'  Is  there  to  be  an  inscription,  then  ? '  Marc  inquired. 

'  Certainly;  the  house  is  intended  for  one.  This  is  what 
I  shall  suggest  to  the  Council:  "  Presented  by  the  Town  of 
Maillebois  to  Schoolmaster  Simon,  in  the  name  of  Truth 
and  Justice,  and  in  reparation  for  the  torture  inflicted  on 
him. ' '  And  the  whole  will  be  signed :  ' '  The  Grandchildren 
of  his  Persecutors." 

With  gestures  of  protest  and  anxiety  Fernand  and  Lucille 
glanced  at  their  daughter  Claire.  Surely  that  was  going  too 
far!  She  must  not  let  her  husband  compromise  himself  to 
such  a  point!  But  Claire,  who  was  leaning  lovingly  against 
Adrien's  shoulder,  smiled,  and  responded  to  the  consterna- 
tion of  her  parents  by  saying:  '  I  helped  to  prepare  the  in- 
scription, Monsieur  Froment;  I  should  like  that  to  be 
known. ' 

'Oh!  I  will  make  it  known,  you  may  depend  on  it,' 
Marc  answered  gaily.  '  But  the  inscription  must  be  ac- 
cepted, and,  first  of  all,  there  is  the  question  of  the 
house.' 

4  Quite  so,'  replied  Adrien.  '  I  wished  to  show  you  my 
plan  with  the  view  of  securing  your  approval  and  help. 
The  question  of  the  expense  will  hardly  affect  the  Council. 
I  am  more  apprehensive  of  certain  scruples,  some  last  at- 
tempts at  resistance,  inspired  by  the  old  spirit.  Though 
the  members  of  the  Council  are  nowadays  all  convinced  of 
Simon's  innocence,  some  of  them  are  timid  men,  who  will 
only  yield  to  the  force  of  public  opinion.  And  our  Mayor, 
Jules  Savin,  has  said  to  me,  truly  enough,  that  it  is  essen- 
tial the  scheme  should  be  voted  unanimously  on  the  day  it 
is  brought  forward.' 

Then,  as  a  fresh  idea  occurred  to  him,  Adrien  added: 
'  Do  you  know,  master,  as  you  have  been  good  enough  to 
come  so  far,  you  ought  to  cap  your  kindness  by  accom- 
panying me  to  Jules  Savin's  at  once.  He  was  a  pupil  of 
yours,  and  I  feel  certain  that  our  cause  would  make  great 
progress  if  you  would  only  have  a  short  chat  with  him. ' 


TRUTH  535 

'  I  will  do  so  willingly,'  Marc  answered.  '  Let  us  start; 
I  will  go  wherever  you  like.' 

Fernand  and  Lucille  protested  no  longer.  She  had  re- 
turned to  her  knitting,  while  he,  pulling  at  his  pipe,  relapsed 
into  the  indifference  of  a  dullard  unable  to  understand  the 
new  times.  Claire,  however,  suddenly  had  to  defend  the 
plan  from  the  enterprising  hands  of  little  Georgette,  who 
wished  to  appropriate  '  the  pretty  picture. '  Then,  as  Marc 
and  Adrien  made  ready  to  go,  there  came  more  embraces, 
handshakes,  and  laughter. 

The  farm  of  Les  Amettes,  where  Jules  Savin  resided,  was 
on  the  other  side  of  Maillebois,  and  in  order  to  reach  it 
Marc  and  the  young  architect  had  to  pass  the  new  recreation- 
ground.  For  a  moment,  therefore,  they  paused  before  the 
plot  of  land  on  which  the  architect  proposed  to  build  the 
projected  house. 

'  You  see, '  said  he,  '  all  the  requirements  for  a  house  will 
be  found  united  here ' 

But  he  broke  off  on  seeing  a  stout  and  smiling  man  ap- 
proach him.  '  Why,  here  's  uncle  Charles!  '  he  exclaimed. 
4 1  say,  uncle,  when  we  build  the  house  for  Simon  the 
martyr,  which  I  have  told  you  about,  you  will  undertake  to 
provide  all  the  locksmith's  work  at  cost  price,  will  you  not  ? ' 

'Well,  I  don't  mind,  my  boy,  if  it  pleases  you,'  said 
Charles  Doloir.  'And  I  '11  do  it  also  for  your  sake,  Mon- 
sieur Froment,  for  it  pains  me  at  times  to  think  of  how  I 
used  to  worry  you. ' 

Charles,  after  marrying  Marthe  Dupuis,  his  employer's 
daughter,  had  for  a  long  time  been  managing  the  business. 
He  had  a  son  named  Marcel,  who  was  about  the  same  age 
as  Adrien,  and  who,  having  married  a  carpenter's  daugh- 
ter, Laure  Dumont,  had  become  a  contractor  for  house 
carpentry. 

'  I  am  going  to  your  father's,'  Charles  resumed,  address- 
ing his  nephew;  '  I  have  an  appointment  with  Marcel  about 
some  work.  Come  with  me,  for  if  you  build  this  house  you 
will  have  some  work  to  give  them  as  well.  .  .  .  And 
you  will  come  also,  Monsieur  Froment  ?  It  will  please  you, 
perhaps,  to  meet  some  more  of  your  old  pupils.' 

'Yes,  indeed  it  will,'  Marc  answered  gaily.  'Besides, 
we  shall  be  able  to  settle  the  specifications.' 

'  The  specifications!  Oh!  we  have  not  got  to  that  point 
yet,'  Adrien  retorted.  '  Moreover,  my  father  is  n't  an 
enthusiast.  .  .  .  But  no  matter;  I  '11  go  to  see  him.' 


536  TRUTH 

Auguste  Doloir,  thanks  to  the  friendly  protection  of 
Darras,  the  former  mayor,  had  become  a  building  contrac- 
tor in  a  small  way.  After  his  father's  death  he  had  taken 
his  mother  to  live  with  him,  and  since  the  demolition  of  the 
Rue  Plaisir  he  had  been  residing  in  the  new  avenue,  where 
he  occupied  a  ground  floor  flanked  by  a  large  yard,  in  which 
he  stored  some  of  his  materials.  The  lodging  was  very 
clean,  very  healthy,  and  full  of  sunlight. 

When  Marc  found  himself  in  the  bright  dining-room, 
face  to  face  with  Madame  Doilor  the  elder,  some  more 
memories  of  the  past  returned  to  him.  The  old  woman, 
now  sixty-nine  years  old,  had  retained  the  demeanour  of  a 
good  and  prudent  housewife,  one  who  was  instinctively  con- 
servative, and  allowed  neither  her  husband  nor  her  children 
to  compromise  themselves  by  dabbling  in  politics.  Marc  also 
recalled  her  husband,  Doloir  the  mason,  that  big,  fair,  ig- 
norant fellow,  good-natured  in  his  way,  but  spoilt  by  barrack 
life,  haunted  as  he  was  by  idiotic  notions  of  the  army  being 
disorganised  by  those  who  knew  no  country,  and  of  France 
being  sold  to  the  foreigners  by  the  Jews.  One  day,  unfor- 
tunately, he  had  been  brought  home  dead  on  a  stretcher, 
after  falling  from  a  scaffolding;  and  it  seemed  as  if  he  had 
been  drinking  previously,  though  Madame  Doloir  would 
not  acknowledge  it,  for  she  was  one  of  those  who  never 
admit  the  existence  of  family  failings. 

On  perceiving  Marc  she  at  once  said  to  him:  'Ah!  mon- 
sieur, we  are  no  longer  young;  we  are  very  old  acquaint- 
ances indeed.  Auguste  and  Charles  were  not  more  than 
eight  and  six  years  old  when  I  first  saw  you.' 

'Quite  so,  madame;  I  well  remember  it.  I  called  on 
you,  on  behalf  of  my  colleague  Simon,  to  ask  you  to  let 
your  boys  tell  the  truth  if  they  should  be  questioned.' 

At  this,  though  the  case  was  now  such  a  very  old  one, 
Madame  Doloir  became  grave  and  suspicious.  '  That  affair 
was  no  concern  of  ours,'  she  answered,  '  and  I  acted  rightly 
in  refusing  to  let  it  enter  our  home,  for  it  did  great  harm  to 
many  people.' 

Charles,  however,  perceiving  his  brother  Auguste  in  the 
yard  with  Marcel,  ready  for  the  appointment,  now  called 
him  into  the  room:  '  Come  here  a  moment;  I  've  brought 
somebody  to  see  you.  Besides,  your  son  Adrien  is  here, 
and  wants  to  give  us  an  order.' 

Auguste,  who  was  as  tall  and  sturdy  as  his  father  had 
been,  pressed  Marc's  hand  vigorously.  'Ah,  Monsieur 


TRUTH  537 

Froment, '  said  he,  '  we  often  talk  about  you — Charles  and 
I — when  we  remember  our  school-days!  I  was  a  very  bad 
pupil,  and  I  've  regretted  it  at  times.  Yet  I  hope  I  have  n't 
disgraced  you  too  much;  and,  in  any  case,  my  son  Adrien 
is  becoming  a  man  after  your  own  heart.'  Then  he  added, 
laughing:  'I  know  what  Adrien's  order  is!  Yes,  indeed, 
the  house  which  he  wants  to  build  for  your  friend  Simon! 
.  All  the  same,  a  house  is  perhaps  a  good  deal  to 
give  to  an  ex-convict.' 

In  spite  of  the  bantering  bonhomie  of  Auguste's  tone,  Marc 
felt  grieved  by  that  last  remark.  '  Do  you  still  think  Simon 
guilty  ? '  he  inquired.  'At  one  time  you  became  convinced 
of  his  innocence.  But  you  began  to  doubt  it  again  after 
that  monstrous  trial  at  Rozan." 

'  Well,  of  course,  Monsieur  Froment,  one  feels  impressed 
when  a  man  is  found  guilty  by  two  juries  in  succession. 
.  .  .  But  no!  I  no  longer  say  that  he  was  the  culprit. 
And  besides,  at  bottom  it  is  all  one  to  us.  We  are  even 
quite  willing  that  a  present  should  be  made  to  him,  if  by 
that  means  the  affair  can  be  brought  to  an  end  once  and 
for  all,  so  that  we  shall  never  have  it  dinned  into  our  ears 
again.  Is  n't  that  so,  brother  ? ' 

'  That  's  correct,'  responded  Charles.  '  If  those  big  fel- 
lows were  listened  to,  we  ourselves  should  be  the  only  real 
criminals,  on  the  ground  that  we  tolerated  the  injustice. 
It  vexes  me.  There  must  be  an  end  to  it  all! ' 

The  two  cousins,  Adrien  and  Marcel,  who  took  an  equally 
passionate  interest  in  the  affair,  laughed  triumphantly.  '  So 
it  is  settled ! '  exclaimed  Marcel,  as  he  tapped  his  father  on 
the  shoulder.  '  You  will  take  charge  of  the  locksmith's 
work,  uncle  Auguste  of  the  masonry,  and  I  of  the  timber 
work.  In  that  way  your  share  in  the  crime,  as  you  put  it, 
will  be  repaired.  And  we  will  never  mention  the  matter  to 
you  again,  we  swear  it!  ' 

Adrien  was  laughing  and  nodding  his  approval  when  old 
Madame  Doloir,  who  had  remained  standing  there,  stiff  and 
silent,  intervened  in  her  obstinate  way.  'Auguste  and 
Charles,'  said  she,  'have  nothing  to  repair.  It  will  never 
be  known  whether  Schoolmaster  Simon  was  guilty  or  not. 
We  little  folk  ought  never  to  poke  our  noses  into  affairs 
which  only  concern  the  Government.  And  I  pity  you  boys 
— yes,  both  of  you,  Adrien  and  Marcel — if  you  imagine  that 
you  are  strong  enough  to  change  things.  You  fancy  that 
you  now  know  everything,  whereas  you  know  nothing  at 


538  TRUTH 

all.  .  .  .  For  instance,  my  poor  dead  husband,  your 
grandfather,  knew  that  a  general  meeting  of  all  the  Jew 
millionaires  was  held  in  Paris,  in  a  subterranean  gallery 
near  the  fortifications,  every  Saturday,  when  it  was  decided 
what  sums  should  be  paid  to  the  traitors  who  betrayed 
France  to  Germany.  And  he  knew  the  story  to  be  a  true 
one,  for  it  had  been  told  him  by  his  own  captain,  who 
vouched  for  it  on  his  honour. ' 

Marc  gazed  at  the  old  woman  in  wonderment,  for  it  was 
as  if  he  had  been  carried  forty  years  back.  He  recognised 
in  her  tale  one  of  those  extraordinary  stories  which  Doloir 
the  mason  had  picked  up  while  he  was  soldiering.  For 
their  part,  Auguste  and  Charles  had  listened  to  the  anec- 
dote in  quite  a  serious  way,  without  any  sign  of  embarrass- 
ment, for  it  was  amid  similar  imbecilities  that  they  had 
spent  their  childhood.  But  neither  Adrien  nor  Marcel 
could  refrain  from  smiling,  however  great  might  be  their 
affectionate  deference  for  their  grandmother. 

'The  Jew   syndicate   in  a  cellar!     Ah,   what  an  idea, 
grandmother ! '   said  Adrien  softly.     '  There  are  no  more 
Jews,  for  there  will  soon  be  no  more  Catholics. 
The  disappearance  of  the  Churches  means  the  end  of  all 
religious  warfare.' 

Then,  as  his  mother  now  came  into  the  room,  he  went  to 
kiss  her.  Angele  Bongard,  who  had  married  Auguste 
Doloir  when  a  shrewd  young  peasant  girl,  had  largely  con- 
tributed to  her  husband's  success,  though  she  had  no  very 
exceptional  gifts.  She  now  at  once  asked  for  news  of  her 
brother  Fernand,  her  sister-in-law  Lucille,  and  their  daugh- 
ter Claire,  who  had  married  her  son.  Then  the  whole 
family  became  interested  in  the  latest  addition  to  its  num- 
ber, this  being  a  baby-boy  named  CeUestin,  to  whom  Mar- 
cel's wife  had  given  birth  a  fortnight  previously. 

'  You  see,  Monsieur  Froment, '  remarked  old  Madame 
Doloir,  '  I  have  become  a  great-grandmother  for  the  second 
time;  after  Georgette  has  come  this  little  fellow,  Ce"lestin. 
My  younger  son,  Le"on,  also  has  a  big  boy,  Edmond,  now 
twelve  years  old ;  but  he  is  only  my  grandson,  so  with  him 
I  don't  seem  to  be  quite  so  old.' 

The  old  woman  was  becoming  amiable  —  anxious,  it 
seemed,  to  efface  the  recollection  of  her  former  stiffness,  for 
she  continued:  'And,  by  the  way,  Monsieur  Froment,  we 
never  seem  to  agree;  but  there  is  one  thing  for  which  I 
really  have  to  thank  you,  and  that  is  for  having  almost 


TRUTH  539 

compelled  me  to  make  Le"on  a  schoolmaster.  I  did  n't  care 
for  that  profession,  for  it  seemed  to  me  hardly  a  tempting 
one;  but  you  took  all  sorts  of  pains;  you  gave  lessons  to 
Leon,  and  now,  though  he  's  not  yet  forty,  he  already  has 
a  good  position. ' 

She  had  become,  indeed,  very  proud  of  her  youngest  son, 
Leon,  who  had  lately  succeeded  Sebastien  Milhomme  in  the 
headmastership  of  a  school  at  Beaumont,  Sebastien  having 
been  appointed  director  of  the  Training  College.  The 
schoolmistress  whom  Leon  had  married,  Juliette  Hochard, 
had  also  been  transferred  to  Beaumont,  there  taking  the 
former  post  of  Mademoiselle  Rouzaire ;  and  their  eldest  son, 
Edmond,  now  a  pupil  at  the  Lycee,  was  studying  brilliantly. 

Well  pleased  at  seeing  his  grandmother  so  amiable  with 
Marc,  Adrien  kissed  her,  and  then  said  jestingly:  '  That  's 
very  nice  of  you,  grandmother;  you  are  now  on  Monsieur 
Froment's  side.  And,  do  you  know,  on  the  day  when 
Simon  returns  we  will  choose  you  to  offer  him  a  bouquet  at 
the  railway  station.' 

But  she  again  became  grave  and  suspicious.  'Ah,  no; 
not  that;  certainly  not!  I  don't  want  to  get  myself  into 
trouble.  You  young  men  are  mad  with  your  new  ideas! ' 

After  a  merry  leave-taking,  Adrien  and  Marc  at  last  re- 
tired in  order  to  make  their  way  to  Jules  Savin's.  The 
model  farm  of  Les  Amettes  spread  over  some  two  hundred 
and  fifty  acres  in  the  outskirts  of  Maillebois,  just  beyond 
the  new  district.  Jules,  after  his  mother's  death,  had  given 
a  home  to  his  father,  the  former  petty  clerk,  who  was  now 
seventy-one  years  old;  and  he  had  been  obliged  to  do  the 
same  for  his  elder  brother,  Achille,  one  of  the  twins, 
who,  after  being  for  many  years  a  clerk  like  his  father,  had 
been  suddenly  stricken  with  paralysis.  Philippe,  the  other 
twin,  and  at  one  time  the  partner  of  Jules,  was  now  dead. 

It  so  happened  that  Marc  had  become  a  connection  of 
this  family  by  reason  of  the  marriage  of  his  son  Clement 
with  Charlotte,  the  daughter  of  Hortense  Savin,  who  had 
died  some  years  previously.  But  the  marriage  had  taken 
place  somewhat  against  Marc's  desires,  and  thus,  while  allow- 
ing Clement  all  latitude  to  follow  the  dictates  of  his  heart, 
he  had  preferred  personally  to  hold  aloof.  He  was  too 
broad-minded  to  make  Charlotte  responsible  for  the  flighty 
conduct  of  her  mother,  who,  after  being  led  astray  in  her 
sixteenth  year  and  marrying  her  seducer,  had  ended  by 
eloping  with  another  lover,  meeting  at  last  with  a  wretched 


54O  TRUTH 

death  in  some  other  part  of  France.  And  thus,  while  im- 
puting nothing  to  her  daughter,  Marc  harboured  certain 
prejudices  against  the  Savin  family  generally,  and,  what- 
ever alacrity  he  had  professed,  it  had  been  necessary  for 
him  to  do  violence  to  his  feelings  when  Adrien  had  begged 
him  to  go  to  Les  Amettes. 

As  it  happened  Jules  was  not  at  home,  but  his  return  was 
expected  every  moment.  In  the  meantime  the  visitors 
found  themselves  in  the  presence  of  Savin  senior,  who  was 
watching  over  his  son  Achille  in  a  little  sitting-room,  where 
the  paralysed  man  now  spent  his  life  in  an  armchair  placed 
near  the  window.  Directly  Savin  senior  caught  sight  of 
Marc  he  raised  a  cry  of  surprise:  'Ah!  Monsieur  Froment,' 
said  he,  '  I  thought  you  were  angry  with  me.  Well,  it  is 
kind  of  you  to  call. ' 

He  was  still  as  thin  and  as  puny  as  ever,  still  racked,  too, 
by  a  dreadful  cough,  yet  he  had  contrived  to  survive  his 
fresh,  pretty,  and  plump  wife,  whom,  indeed,  he  had  killed 
by  dint  of  daily  vexations  inspired  by  his  bitter  jealousy. 

'Angry  ? '  Marc  quietly  responded.  '  Why  should  I  be 
angry  with  you,  Monsieur  Savin  ? ' 

'  Oh !  because  our  ideas  have  never  been  the  same, '  said 
the  ex-clerk.  '  Your  son  may  have  married  my  grand- 
daughter, but  that  does  not  suffice  to  reconcile  our  opinions. 
.  .  .  For  instance,  you  and  your  friends  are  now  driving 
away  all  the  priests  and  monks,  which  I  regard  as  very  un- 
fortunate, for  it  will  only  lead  to  an  increase  of  immorality. 
Heaven  knows  that  I  don't  like  those  gentry,  for  I  am  an 
old  Republican,  a  Socialist — yes,  a  Socialist,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment! But  then,  women  and  children  need  the  threats  of 
religion  to  check  them  from  evil  courses,  as  I  have  never 
grown  tired  of  saying.' 

An  involuntary  smile  escaped  Marc  as  he  listened.  'Re- 
ligion a  police  service!'  said  he;  'I  know  your  theory. 
But  how  can  religion  exercise  any  power  when  people  no 
longer  believe,  and  there  is  no  longer  any  reason  to  fear  the 
priests  ? ' 

'  No  longer  a  reason  to  fear  them ! '  cried  Savin.  *  Good 
Heavens!  you  are  much  mistaken.  I  myself  have  always 
been  one  of  their  victims.  If  I  had  sided  with  them,  do 
you  think  that  I  should  have  vegetated  all  my  life  in  a  little 
office,  and  now  be  a  charge  on  my  son  Jules,  after  losing 
my  wife,  who  was  killed  by  all  sorts  of  privations  ?  And 
my  son  Achille,  whom  you  see  here,  so  grievously  afflicted 


TRUTH  541 

— he  again  is  a  victim  of  the  priests.  I  ought  to  have  sent 
him  to  a  seminary,  and  he  would  now  be  a  prefect  or  a 
judge,  instead  of  having  contracted  all  sorts  of  aches  and 
pains  in  a  horrible  office,  which  he  left  unable  to  use  either 
his  legs  or  his  arms,  so  that  now  he  cannot  even  take  a  basin 
of  soup  unassisted.  .  .  .  The  priests  are  dirty  scamps; 
is  it  not  so,  Achille  ?  But  all  the  same,  it  is  better  to  have 
them  on  one's  side  than  against  one.' 

The  cripple,  who  had  greeted  his  old  master  with  a 
friendly  nod,  now  remarked  slowly,  his  speech  being  already 
impeded  by  paralysis:  '  The  priests  long  controlled  the 
weather,  no  doubt;  nevertheless,  one  is  beginning  to  do 
without  them  very  well.'  Then,  with  something  like  a 
sneer,  he  added:  'And  so  it  has  become  easy  enough  to 
settle  their  account,  and  play  the  judge.' 

As  he  spoke  he  looked  at  Adrien,  for  whom  that  uncom- 
plimentary allusion  was  doubtless  intended.  Achille's  un- 
fortunate position,  the  death  of  his  wife,  and  a  quarrel  which 
had  arisen  between  him  and  his  daughter  Leontine,  who 
was  married  to  a  Beaumont  ironmonger,  had  embittered  his 
nature.  And  deeming  his  allusion  insufficient,  wishing  to 
be  more  precise,  he  continued:  '  You  will  remember,  Mon- 
sieur Froment,  that  I  told  you  I  was  still  convinced  of 
Simon's  innocence  at  the  time  when  he  was  recondemned 
at  Rozan.  But  what  could  I  do  ?  Could  I  have  made  a 
revolution  by  myself  ?  No,  of  course  not;  so  it  was  best  to 
remain  silent.  .  .  .  Nevertheless,  I  now  see  a  number 
of  young  gentlemen  calling  us  cowards,  and  trying  to  give 
us  a  lesson  by  raising  triumphal  arches  to  the  martyr.  It  is 
brave  work  indeed! ' 

On  being  challenged  in  this  fashion  Adrien  immediately 
understood  that  Jules  Savin  must  have  spoken  of  the  great 
plan.  And  instead  of  losing  his  temper  he  strove  to  be  very 
amiable  and  conciliatory:  '  Oh!  everybody  is  brave  on  be- 
coming just,'  he  replied.  '  I  know  very  well,  monsieur, 
that  you  were  always  among  the  reasonable  folk,  and  I  con- 
fess that  some  members  of  my  own  family  showed  even 
greater  blindness  and  obstinacy  than  others.  But  to-day 
the  general  desire  ought  to  be  to  unite,  so  that  all  may 
mingle  in  the  same  flame  of  solidarity  and  justice.' 

Savin  senior,  who  had  been  listening  with  an  air  of  stupe- 
faction, now  suddenly  understood  why  Marc  and  Adrien 
were  there,  awaiting  the  return  of  his  son  Jules.  At  the 
outset  he  had  attributed  their  visit  to  politeness  only.  'Ah! 


542  TRUTH 

of  course,  you  have  come  about  that  stupid  scheme  for 
offering  reparation, '  said  he.  '  Well,  like  those  relatives 
you  speak  of,  I  have  nothing  to  do  with  that  business! 
No,  indeed!  My  son  Jules  will  act  as  he  pleases,  of 
course;  but  that  will  not  prevent  me  from  keeping  my  own 
opinion.  .  .  .  The  Jews,  monsieur,  the  Jews,  always 
the  Jews! ' 

Adrien  looked  at  him,  in  his  turn  full  of  stupefaction. 
The  Jews,  indeed!  Why  did  he  speak  of  the  Jews!  Anti- 
Semitism  was  dead — to  such  a  degree,  indeed,  that  the  new 
generation  failed  to  understand  what  was  meant  when 
people  accused  the  Jews  of  every  crime.  As  Adrien  had 
said  to  his  grandmother,  Madame  Doloir,  there  were  no 
Jews  left,  since  only  citizens,  freed  from  the  tyranny  of 
dogmas,  remained.  It  was  essentially  the  Roman  Church 
which  had  exploited  anti-Semitism,  in  the  hope  of  thereby 
winning  back  the  incredulous  masses;  and  anti-Semitism 
had  disappeared  when  that  Church  sank  into  the  darkness 
of  expiring  religions. 

Marc  had  followed  the  scene  with  great  interest,  com- 
paring the  past  with  the  present,  recalling  the  incidents  and 
the  words  of  forty  years  ago,  the  better  to  discern  the  moral 
of  those  of  to-chay.  However,  Jules  Savin  at  last  came  in, 
accompanied  by  his  son  Robert,  a  tall  youth  of  sixteen, 
whom  he  was  already  initiating  into  the  farmwork.  And 
directly  he  learnt  the  purpose  of  his  visitors  he  appeared  to 
be  much  touched,  and  addressing  Marc  with  great  defer- 
ence, exclaimed: 

'  Monsieur  Froment,  you  cannot  doubt  my  desire  to  be 
agreeable  to  you.  We  all  regard  you  nowadays  as  a  just  and 
venerable  master.  Besides,  as  my  friend  Adrien  must  have 
told  you,  I  am  in  no  sense  opposed  to  his  plan.  On  the 
contrary,  I  will  employ  all  the  authority  I  possess  to  second 
it,  for  I  am  entirely  of  his  opinion.  Maillebois  will  only 
regain  its  honour  when  it  has  offered  reparation  for  its  fault. 
Only,  I  repeat  it,  there  must  be  absolute  unanimity 
in  the  Municipal  Council.  I  am  working  in  that  sense,  and 
I  beg  you  to  do  the  same.' 

Then,  as  his  father  began  to  sneer,  Jules  said  to  him, 
smiling:  '  Come,  don't  pretend  to  be  so  hard-headed;  you 
admitted  Simon's  innocence  to  me  the  other  day.' 

'  His  innocence  ?  Oh!  I  don't  dispute  that.  I  also  am 
innocent,  but  nobody  builds  me  a  house.' 

'  You  have  mine, '  Jules  retorted  somewhat  roughly. 


TRUTH  543 

At  bottom  it  was  precisely  that  circumstance  which  hurt 
Savin's  feelings.  The  hospitality  he  received  at  his  son's 
house,  the  fate  that  had  befallen  him  of  ending  his  days 
peacefully,  in  the  home  of  one  who  had  succeeded  by  dint 
of  great  personal  efforts,  gave  the  lie  to  his  everlasting  re- 
criminations, the  regret  he  was  always  expressing  at  not 
having  sided  with  the  priests  in  spite  of  the  hatred  with 
which  he  regarded  them.  Thus,  losing  his  temper,  he 
cried :  '  Well,  if  you  choose  you  can  build  a  cathedral  for 
your  Simon !  It  won't  matter  to  me,  for  I  shall  stay  at  home. ' 

Then  Achille,  who,  tortured  by  the  pains  in  his  legs, 
had  just  raised  a  pitiful  moan,  exclaimed:  'Alas!  I  shall 
stay  at  home  as  well.  But  if  I  were  not  nailed  to  this  arm- 
chair I  would  willingly  go  with  you,  my  dear  Jules,  for  I 
belong  to  the  generation  which  did  not,  perhaps,  do  all  its 
duty,  but  which  was  not  ignorant  of  it,  and  is  ready  to  do 
it  now.' 

After  those  words  Marc  and  Adrien  withdrew,  delighted, 
feeling  certain  of  success.  And  when  Marc  found  himself 
alone  again,  returning  to  his  daughter  Louise  by  way  of  the 
broad  thoroughfares  of  the  new  district,  he  summed  up  all 
he  had  just  seen  and  heard;  the  far-off  memories,  which  at 
the  same  time  returned  to  him,  enabling  him  to  gauge  the 
distance  which  had  been  travelled  during  the  last  forty 
years.  The  whole  story  of  his  life,  his  efforts  and  his 
triumph,  was  spread  out,  and  he  felt  that  he  had  been  right 
in  former  days,  when  he  had  said  that  if  France  did  not 
protest  and  rise  to  do  justice  in  the  Simon  case,  it  was  be- 
cause she  was  steeped  in  too  much  ignorance,  because  she 
was  debased  and  poisoned  by  religious  imbecility  and  mal- 
ice, because  she  was  kept  in  childish  superstitions  and 
notions  by  a  Press  given  over  to  lucre,  scandal,  and  black- 
mailing. And,  in  the  same  way,  a  clear  intuition  had  come 
to  him  of  the  only  possible  remedy — instruction,  edu- 
cation, which  would  liberate  one  and  all,  endow  them  with 
solidarity  and  the  intelligent  bravery  of  life,  by  killing  false- 
hood, destroying  error,  sweeping  away  the  senseless  dogmas 
of  the  Church,  with  its  hell,  its  heaven,  and  its  doctrines  of 
social  death.  That  was  what  Marc  had  desired,  and  that, 
indeed,  was  the  work  which  was  being  accomplished — the 
liberation  of  the  people  by  the  primary  schools,  the  rescue 
of  all  citizens  from  the  state  of  iniquity  in  which  they  had 
been  plunged,  in  order  that  they  might  at  last  become 
capable  of  truth  and  justice. 


544  TRUTH 

But  it  was  particularly  a  feeling  of  appeasement  which 
now  came  over  Marc.  Only  forgiveness,  tolerance,  and 
kindliness  surged  from  his  heart.  In  former  times  he  had 
greatly  suffered,  and  he  had  often  felt  passionately  angry 
with  men  on  seeing  with  what  stupid  cruelty  they  behaved, 
and  how  obstinately  they  persisted  in  evil.  At  present, 
however,  he  could  not  forget  the  words  spoken  by  Fernand 
Bongard  and  Achille  Savin.  They  had  tolerated  injustice, 
no  doubt;  but  as  they  now  said,  this  was  because  they  had 
not  known,  and  because  they  had  not  felt  strong  enough  to 
contend  with  that  injustice.  The  slumber  of  their  intelli- 
gence could  not  be  imputed  to  the  disinherited  scions  of 
ignorance  as  a  crime.  And  Marc  willingly  forgave  one  and 
all;  he  no  longer  harboured  any  rancour  even  against  the 
obstinate  ones,  who  refused  to  open  their  minds  to  facts; 
he  would  simply  have  liked  the  festival  planned  for  Simon's 
return  to  become  a  festival  of  general  reconciliation,  one  in 
which  the  whole  of  Maillebois  would  embrace  and  mingle 
in  brotherly  concord,  resolving  to  work  henceforth  for  the 
happiness  of  all. 

On  reaching  Louise's  quarters  at  the  school,  where  Gene- 
vieve  had  awaited  him,  and  where  they  were  to  dine  in 
company  with  Clement,  Charlotte,  and  Lucienne,  Marc  was 
pleased  to  find  that  Sebastien  and  Sarah  were  also  there, 
having  just  arrived  from  Beaumont  to  share  the  meal.  In- 
deed, it  was  a  general  family  gathering,  and  several  leaves 
had  to  be  added  to  the  table.  There  were  Marc  and 
Genevieve ;  then  Clement  and  Charlotte,  with  their  daughter 
Lucienne,  who  was  already  seven  years  old;  then  Joseph 
Simon  and  Louise;  then  Sebastien  Milhomme  and  Sarah; 
then  Francois  Simon,  Joseph's  son,  and  The"rese  Milhomme, 
Sarah's  daughter,  two  cousins  who  had  married,  and  who 
were  already  the  parents  of  a  little  two-year-old  named 
Rose.  Altogether  they  made  a  dozen,  full  of  health  and 
appetite. 

Acclamations  arose  when  Marc  recounted  his  afternoon, 
describing  Adrien's  plan  and  expressing  his  belief  in  its 
success.  Joseph  alone  felt  doubtful,  for  he  was  not  con- 
vinced, he  said,  of  the  Mayor's  favourable  disposition.  But 
Charlotte  immediately  intervened.  'You  are  mistaicen,' 
she  exclaimed;  'my  uncle  Jules  is  altogether  on  our  side. 
.  We  can  rely  on  him.  He  is  the  only  one  of  the 
family  who  ever  showed  me  any  kindness.' 

Charlotte,  it  should  be  said,  had  become  dependent  on 


TRUTH  545 

her  grandfather,  Savin  senior,  at  the  time  when  her  mother 
had  eloped,  for  it  had  become  necessary  to  place  her  father 
in  an  asylum  on  account  of  the  alcoholism  to  which  he  had 
given  way.  The  girl  had  then  experienced  much  suffering, 
being  often  cuffed  and  sparsely  fed.  Savin,  who  seemed 
oblivious  of  the  deplorable  result  of  the  pious  hypocrisy  in 
which  his  daughter  Hortense  had  been  reared  by  Mad- 
emoiselle Rouzaire,  accused  his  grandchild  of  being  an 
atheist,  a  rebel,  full  of  deplorable  ways,  which  were  due 
to  the  teaching  of  Mademoiselle  Mazeline.  As  a  matter  of 
fact,  however,  Charlotte  was  delightful,  free  from  all  false 
prudery,  and  gifted  with  healthy  uprightness,  sense,  and 
tenderness.  And  Clement  having  married  her  in  spite  of 
all  obstacles,  they  had  since  lived  together  in  the  happiest 
and  the  closest  of  unions. 

'  Charlotte  is  right, '  said  Marc,  who  also  desired  to  defend 
Jules  Savin;  'the  Mayor  is  on  our  side.  But  the  best  of 
all  is  that,  among  the  contractors  for  the  house  which  it  is 
proposed  to  present  to  Simon,  there  will  be  the  two  Doloirs, 
Auguste  the  mason  and  Charles  the  locksmith;  besides 
which,  by  their  ties  of  relationship,  even  Fernand  Bongard 
and  Achille  Savin  will  be  indirectly  concerned  in  it.  ... 
Ah!  S£bastien,  my  friend,  who  would  have  thought  that 
would  come  to  pass  in  the  days  when  you  and  those  fine 
fellows  attended  my  school  ? ' 

At  this  sally  S^bastien  Milhomme  began  to  laugh; 
though  his  mood  was  scarcely  a  cheerful  one,  for  a  recent 
family  loss,  a  very  tragical  affair,  had  affected  him  painfully. 
During  the  previous  spring  his  aunt,  Madame  Edouard,  had 
died,  leaving  the  stationery  business  to  her  sister-in-law, 
Madame  Alexandre.  Her  son  Victor  having  disappeared, 
she  had  of  recent  years  seemed  to  waste  away,  no  longer 
attending  to  the  business,  in  which  she  had  once  taken  such 
a  passionate  interest,  and  feeling,  indeed,  quite  at  sea  amidst 
those  new  times,  which  she  altogether  failed  to  understand. 
Madame  Alexandre  on  remaining  alone  had  continued 
carrying  on  the  business,  for  she  did  not  wish  to  incon- 
venience her  son  Se"bastien,  though  the  latter's  position  was 
becoming  extremely  good.  One  evening,  however,  Victor 
suddenly  reappeared,  emerging  hungry  and  sordid  from  the 
depths  in  which  he  had  been  leading  a  crapulous  life.  He 
had  heard  of  his  mother's  death,  and  he  instantly  demanded 
that  the  business  should  be  put  up  for  sale  and  the  old  part- 
nership liquidated,  in  order  that  he  might  carry  off  his  share 

35 


546  TRUTH 

of  the  proceeds.  Such,  then,  was  the  end  of  the  little  shop 
in  the  Rue  Courte,  where  many  generations  of  schoolboys 
had  purchased  their  copybooks  and  their  pens.  For  a  short 
time  Victor  showed  himself  here  and  there  in  Maillebois, 
leading  a  merry  life,  almost  invariably  in  the  company  of 
his  old  chum,  Polydor  Souquet,  who  had  fallen  to  the 
gutter.  One  evening 'Marc,  having  to  cross  a  street  of  ill- 
repute,  caught  sight  of  them  with  another  man,  whose  black 
figure  strikingly  resembled  that  of  Brother  Gorgias.  And 
finally,  barely  a  week  before  the  family  dinner  given  by 
Louise,  the  police  had  found  a  man  lying  dead,  with  his  skull 
split,  outside  a  haunt  of  debauchery.  The  dead  man  was 
Victor.  There  had  evidently  been  some  dim,  ignoble  trag- 
edy, which  the  interested  parties  endeavoured  to  hush  up. 

'  Yes,  yes, '  said  Se'bastien  in  reply  to  Marc,  '  I  remember 
my  schoolfellows.  With  a  few  unfortunate  exceptions  they 
have  not  turned  out  so  badly.  But  in  life  one  is  at  times 
exposed  to  certain  poisons,  which  prove  pitiless.' 

The  others  did  not  insist.  They  preferred  to  inquire 
after  his  mother,  whom  he  had  now  taken  to  live  with  him 
at  the  Beaumont  Training  College,  and  who  still  enjoyed 
good  health  in  spite  of  her  great  age.  Sebastien's  new 
position  gave  him  a  great  deal  of  occupation,  particularly 
as  he  desired  to  perfect  the  work  of  his  venerated  master, 
Salvan.  'Ah!'  he  exclaimed,  'that  public  reparation 
offered  to  Simon,  that  glorification  of  a  schoolmaster,  will 
be  a  great  joy  for  all  of  us.  I  want  my  pupils  to  participate 
in  it,  and  for  that  purpose  I  shall  endeavour  to  obtain  a 
day's  holiday  for  them." 

Marc,  who  had  rejoiced  at  Sebastien's  appointment  as  if 
it  were  a  personal  triumph,  at  once  signified  his  approval. 
'  Quite  so, '  said  he,  '  and  we  will  bring  the  old  ones  as  well 
— Salvan,  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  and  Mignot.  Besides, 
speaking  of  school-teachers,  there  is  already  a  fine  battalion 
here  present.' 

The  others  began  to  laugh.  With  the  exception  of  the 
two  children  they  were,  indeed,  all  teachers.  Clement  and 
Charlotte  still  carried  on  the  Jonville  schools,  Joseph  and 
Louise  had  decided  that  they  would  never  quit  Maillebois, 
S£bastien  and  Sarah  relied  on  remaining  at  the  Beaumont 
Training  College  until  the  former  reached  the  age  limit; 
while  as  for  the  younger  couple,  Francois  and  Therese,  they 
had  not  long  been  appointed  to  the  Dherbecourt  schools, 
where  their  parents  had  previously  made  their  ctibuts. 


TRUTH  547 

Frangois,  in  whom  one  traced  a  likeness  to  his  parents, 
Joseph  and  Louise,  also  resembled  his  grandfather  Marc, 
for  he  had  much  the  same  lofty  brow  and  bright  eyes, 
though  the  latter  in  his  case  glowed  with  what  seemed  to  be 
a  flame  of  insatiable  desire.  In  The>ese,  on  the  other  hand, 
one  found  the  great  beauty  of  her  mother  Sarah  softened, 
quieted,  as  it  were,  by  the  intellectual  refinement  which  she 
had  inherited  from  her  father,  Sebastien.  And  Rose,  the 
young  couple's  little  girl,  the  last  born  of  the  family,  and  as 
such  worshipped  by  one  and  all,  seemed  to  personify  the 
budding  future. 

The  dinner  proved  delightfully  gay.  How  joyful  for 
Joseph  and  Sarah,  the  children  of  the  innocent  martyr, 
tortured  for  so  many  years,  was  the  thought  of  the  festival 
of  reparation  which  was  now  being  planned!  Their  own 
children  and  their  grandchild — all  that  had  come  from  their 
blood  mingled  with  that  of  Marc,  the  martyr's  most  heroic 
defender  —  would  participate  in  that  glorification.  Four 
generations,  indeed,  would  be  present  to  celebrate  the 
truth,  and  the  cortege  would  be  formed  of  all  the  good 
workers  who,  having  suffered  for  its  sake,  were  entitled  to 
share  its  triumph. 

Laughter,  and  again  laughter,  arose.  They  all  drank  to 
the  return  of  Simon,  and  even  when  ten  o'clock  struck  the 
happy  family  continued  to  give  expression  to  its  delight, 
quite  forgetful  of  the  trains  by  which  some  of  its  members 
were  to  return  to  Beaumont  and  others  to  Jonville. 

From  that  day  forward  things  moved  with  unexpected 
rapidity.  Adrien's  scheme  on  being  laid  before  the  Muni- 
cipal Council  was  voted  unanimously,  as  Jules  Savin,  the 
Mayor,  had  desired.  Nobody  even  thought  of  opposing 
the  suggested  inscription.  None  of  the  applications  and 
pleadings,  which  the  promoters  of  the  scheme  had  imagined 
necessary,  were  required,  for  the  idea  to  which  they  gave 
expression  already  existed,  in  embryo,  in  the  minds  of  all. 
There  was  remorse  for  the  past,  uneasiness  at  the  thought 
of  the  unhealed  iniquity,  and  a  craving  to  repair  it  for  the 
sake  of  the  town's  honour.  Everybody  now  felt  that  it  was 
impossible  to  be  happy  outside  the  pale  of  civic  solidarity, 
for  durable  happiness  can  only  come  to  a  people  when  it  is 
just.  And  so  in  a  few  weeks'  time  the  subscription  lists 
were  filled.  As  the  amount  required  was  a  comparatively 
small  one,  being  no  more  than  thirty  thousand  francs,' — for 

1  $6000. 


548  TRUTH 

the  site  of  the  house  was  given  by  the  municipality, — people 
contented  themselves  with  subscribing  two,  three,  or  at  the 
utmost  five  francs,  in  order  that  a  larger  number  of  sub- 
scribers might  participate.  The  workmen  of  the  faubourg 
and  the  peasants  of  the  environs  contributed  their  half-francs 
and  their  francs;  and  at  the  end  of  March  the  building  was 
put  in  hand,  for  it  was  desired  that  everything  should  be  in 
readiness,  the  last  woodwork  in  position,  and  the  last  paint 
dry,  by  mid-September,  the  date  which  Simon  had  ended 
by  fixing  for  his  return. 

In  September,  then,  the  simple  but  cheerful  house  stood 
completed  in  its  pleasant  garden,  which  was  faced  by  a 
railing  on  the  side  of  the  square.  Its  affectionately-awaited 
owner  might  come  to  take  possession  of  it  when  he  pleased, 
for  nothing  was  lacking.  True,  a  drapery  hung  before  the 
marble  slab  bearing  an  inscription  over  the  doorway;  but 
this  inscription,  so  far  as  Simon  was  concerned,  was  to 
be  the  great  surprise,  and  would  only  be  uncovered  at 
the  last  moment.  Adrien  repaired  to  the  Pyrenees  to  plan 
the  final  arrangements  with  Simon  and  David,  and  it  was 
then  decided  that  the  former's  wife,  who  was  in  a  very 
weak  state  of  health,  should  in  the  first  instance  install 
herself  in  the  house,  with  the  help  of  her  children,  Joseph 
and  Sarah.  Then,  on  the  appointed  day,  Simon  would 
arrive  with  his  brother  David.  There  would  be  an  official 
reception  at  the  railway  station,  and  afterwards  he  would 
be  conducted  in  triumph  to  his  new  home,  the  gift  of 
his  fellow-townsmen,  where  his  wife  and  children  would 
await  him. 

At  last,  on  the  Twentieth  of  September,  a  Sunday,  the 
solemnity  was  enacted  amid  radiant  sunshine  and  a  warm 
and  pure  atmosphere.  The  streets  of  Maillebois  were 
decorated  with  flags,  the  last  flowers  of  the  season  were 
scattered  along  the  procession's  line  of  route.  And  early 
in  the  morning — although  the  train  would  only  arrive  at 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon — the  population  assembled 
out  of  doors,  gathering  together  in  a  happy,  singing,  laugh- 
ing multitude,  whose  numbers  were  swollen  by  all  the 
visitors  who  flocked  in  from  neighbouring  parishes.  At 
noon  one  could  no  longer  circulate  outside  the  house  on 
the  large  new  square,  whose  recreation-ground  was  invaded 
by  the  working-class  families  of  the  neighbourhood.  There 
were  people,  too,  at  all  the  windows,  and  the  very  roadways 
were  blocked  by  waves  of  spectators  eager  to  see  and  to  cry 


TRUTH  549 

their  passion  for  justice.  Nothing  could  have  been  grander 
or  more  inspiring. 

Marc  and  Genevieve  had  arrived  from  Jonville,  with 
Clement,  Charlotte,  and  little  Lucienne,  early  in  the  day. 
It  was  arranged  that  they  should  await  Simon  in  the  garden 
of  the  house,  grouped  around  Madame  Simon,  her  children, 
Joseph  and  Sarah,  her  grandchildren,  Frangois  and  The"rese, 
and  her  great-granddaughter,  little  Rose.  Louise,  of  course, 
was  there,  beside  her  husband  Joseph,  and  Sebastien  beside 
his  wife  Sarah.  These  constituted  the  three  generations 
which  had  sprung  from  the  blood  of  the  innocent  man 
mingled  with  that  of  his  champions.  Then,  also,  places 
had  been  reserved  for  the  first  defenders,  the  survivors  of 
the  heroic  days, —  Salvan,  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  and 
Mignot, — as  well  as  for  the  fervent  artisans  of  the  work  of 
reparation,  the  now  conquered  and  enthusiastic  members 
of  the  Bongard,  Doloir,  and  Savin  families.  It  was  rumoured 
that  Delbos,  the  ex-advocate,  the  hero  of  the  two  trials, 
who  for  four  years  recently  had  held  the  office  of  Minister 
of  the  Interior,  had  gone  to  join  Simon  and  David,  in  order 
to  reach  the  town  in  their  company.  Only  the  Mayor  and 
a  deputation  of  the  Municipal  Council  were  to  meet  the 
brothers  at  the  railway  station  and  conduct  them  to  the 
house,  decked  with  banners  and  garlands,  where  the  cere- 
mony of  presentation  would  take  place.  And  there,  in 
accordance  with  this  programme,  Marc  remained  waiting 
with  the  rest  of  the  family,  in  spite  of  all  his  joyous  eager- 
ness to  embrace  the  triumpher. 

Two  o'clock  struck;  there  was  still  an  hour  to  be  spent 
patiently.  Meanwhile  the  crowd  steadily  increased.  Marc, 
having  left  the  garden  to  mingle  with  the  groups  and  hear 
what  was  being  said,  found  that  the  one  subject  of  con- 
versation was  that  extraordinary  story  emerging  from  the 
past,  that  condemnation  of  an  innocent  man,  which  had 
become  both  abominable  and  inexplicable  in  the  eyes  of  the 
new  generations.  From  the  younger  folk  a  long  cry  of  in- 
dignant amazement  arose;  while  the  old  people,  those  who 
had  witnessed  the  iniquity,  tried  to  defend  themselves  with 
vague  gestures  and  shamefaced  explanations.  Now  that 
the  truth  had  become  manifest  in  the  full  sunlight,  endowed 
with  all  the  force  of  invincible  certainty,  the  children  and 
the  grandchildren  could  not  understand  how  their  parents 
and  grandparents  had  carried  blindness  and  egotism  so  far 
as  to  fail  to  fathom  so  simple  an  affair.  And  doubtless 


550  TRUTH 

many  of  the  older  folk  shared  the  astonishment  of  the 
younger  ones,  and  were  at  a  loss  to  account  for  the  credulity 
into  which  they  had  fallen.  That,  indeed,  was  their  best 
answer  to  the  reproaches  they  heard;  it  was  necessary  to 
have  lived  in  those  times  to  understand  the  power  of  false- 
hood over  ignorance.  One  old  man  penitently  confessed 
his  error;  another  related  how  he  had  hissed  Simon  on  the 
day  of  his  arrest,  and  how  he  had  now  been  waiting  two 
hours  in  order  to  acclaim  him,  anxious  as  he  was  not  to  die 
with  his  bad  action  upon  his  conscience.  And  a  youth,  his 
grandson,  thereupon  threw  himself  on  the  old  man's  neck 
and  kissed  him,  laughing,  with  tears  in  his  eyes.  Marc  was 
delightfully  touched  by  the  scene,  and  continued  to  walk 
about,  looking  and  listening. 

But  all  at  once  he  stopped  short.  He  had  just  recognised 
Polydor  Souquet,  clad  in  rags,  with  a  ravaged  countenance, 
as  if  still  under  the  effects  of  a  night  of  intoxication.  And 
Marc  was  thunderstruck  when  by  the  side  of  Polydor  he 
perceived  Brother  Gorgias,  clad  as  usual  in  black,  without 
a  sign  of  linen,  his  greasy  old  frock-coat  clinging  fast  to  his 
dark  hide.  He,  Gorgias,  was  not  drunk.  Silent  and  fierce 
of  aspect,  erect  in  all  his  tragic  leanness,  he  darted  fiery 
glances  at  the  crowd.  And  Marc  could  hear  that  Polydor, 
with  a  drunkard's  stupid  obstinacy,  was  deriding  him  re- 
specting the  affair,  of  which  everybody  was  talking  around 
them.  Slabbering  and  stammering,  the  scamp  went  on: 

'  I  say,  old  man,  the  copy-slip — you  remember,  eh  ?  The 
copy-slip!  It  was  I  who  sneaked  it.  I  had  it  in  my  pocket, 
and  I  was  stupid  enough  to  give  it  you  back  while  you  were 
seeing  me  home.  .  .  .  Ah,  yes!  that  wretched  copy- 
slip.' 

A  sudden  flash  of  light  illumined  Marc's  mind.  He  now 
knew  the  whole  truth.  The  one  gap  in  the  affair,  which 
had  still  worried  him  occasionally,  was  now  filled.  Poly- 
dor had  given  the  slip  to  Gorgias,  and  that  explained  how 
it  had  chanced  to  be  in  his  pocket,  and  how  it  had  become 
mingled  with  a  copy  of  Le  Petit  Beaunwntais  when,  terrified 
by  his  victim's  cries,  he  had  hastily  sought  a  handkerchief, 
a  stopper  of  any  kind,  to  use  as  a  gag. 

'  But  you  know,  old  man,'  stammered  Polydor,  '  we  liked 
each  other  very  much,  and  we  did  n't  tell  our  business  to 
other  folk.  And  yet,  if  I  had  chattered,  what  a  rumpus 
there  would  have  been !  Ah !  what  a  face  my  Aunt  PeUagie 
would  have  pulled! ' 


TRUTH  551 

Half-fuddled,  in  an  ignoble  state,  the  rascal  went  on 
jeering,  unconscious,  it  seemed,  of  the  presence  of  the 
people  around  him.  And  Gorgias,  who  from  time  to  time 
gave  him  a  contemptuous  glance,  must  suddenly  have 
understood  that  Marc  had  heard  the  drunkard's  involuntary 
confession,  for  in  a  low  voice  he  growled :  '  Be  quiet,  you 
wine-bag!  Be  quiet,  you  rotten  cur!  You  stink  of  your 
sin  and  mine ;  you  have  damned  me  again  by  your  ignominy ! 
Be  quiet,  you  filthy  thing;  it  is  I  who  will  speak!  Yes,  I 
will  confess  my  fault,  in  order  that  God  may  pardon 
me!' 

Then,  addressing  himself  to  Marc,  who  was  still  lost  in 
silent  amazement,  he  went  on:  'You  heard  him,  Mon- 
sieur Froment,  did  n't  you  ?  Well,  it  's  necessary  that  all 
should  hear.  I  have  been  consumed  long  enough  by  a  de- 
sire to  confess  myself  to  men,  even  as  I  have  confessed  to 
God,  in  order  that  my  salvation  may  be  the  more  glorious. 
And,  besides,  all  these  people  exasperate  me!  They  know 
absolutely  nothing;  they  keep  on  repeating  my  name  with 
execration,  as  if  I  were  the  only  culprit !  But  wait  a  mo- 
ment ;  they  will  see  it  is  not  so,  for  I  will  tell  them  every- 
thing! ' 

Then,  though  he  was  over  seventy  years  old,  he  con- 
trived to  spring  upon  the  low  wall  supporting  the  garden 
railing  of  the  house  where  Simon,  the  innocent  man,  was 
soon  to  be  received  in  triumph.  And  clinging  with  one 
hand  to  that  railing,  he  turned  and  faced  his  mighty  audi- 
ence. During  the  hour  he  had  spent  roaming  through  the 
groups,  he  had  heard  his  name  fall  from  every  tongue  as  a 
name  of  infamy.  And  he  had  gradually  been  fired  by  a 
sombre  fever,  the  bravery  of  a  fine  bandit,  who  denies  none 
of  his  actions,  but  is  ready  to  cast  them  in  the  teeth  of  men, 
full  of  a  mad  pride  that  he  should  have  dared  to  commit 
them.  What  caused  him  most  suffering,  however,  was  that 
he  alone  should  be  named,  that  all  the  weight  of  the  general 
execration  should  be  cast  upon  his  shoulders,  for  the  others, 
his  accomplices,  seemed  to  be  quite  forgotten.  Only  the 
previous  day,  his  resources  again  being  exhausted,  he  had 
attempted  to  force  himself  upon  Father  Crabot,  who  was 
shut  up  at  the  estate  of  La  Desirade,  and  he  had  been  flung 
out  with  the  alms  of  a  twenty-franc  piece,  the  very  last  that 
would  be  given  him,  so  he  had  been  told.  And  now,  amid 
all  the  insulting  words  that  were  levelled  at  him,  nobody 
shouted  the  name  of  Father  Crabot.  Why,  as  he  was  ready 


552  TRUTH 

to  expiate  his  transgression,  why  should  not  Father  Crabot 
expiate  his  also  ?  No  doubt  he,  Gorgias,  would  extract  no 
more  twenty-franc  pieces  from  that  coward  if  he  were  to 
reveal  everything;  but  his  hatred  was  now  dearer  to  him 
than  money,  and  it  would  be  blissful  to  cast  his  enemy  into 
the  flames  of  hell,  while  he  himself  ascended  to  the  delights 
of  paradise  by  virtue  of  the  penance  of  a  public  confession, 
the  idea  of  which  had  long  haunted  him. 

Thus  an  unexpected,  an  extraordinary  scene  began. 
With  a  violent,  sweeping  gesture,  Gorgias  sought  to  gather 
the  crowd  together  and  attract  its  attention.  And  in  a 
shrill  but  still  powerful  voice  he  called:  'Listen  to  me! 
listen  to  me!  I  will  tell  you  everything! ' 

But  at  first  he  was  not  heard,  and  he  had  to  raise  the 
same  cry  twice,  thrice,  a  dozen  times,  with  increasing,  un- 
wearying energy.  By  degrees  he  was  noticed  and  people 
became  attentive ;  and  when  some  of  the  old  folk  had  recog- 
nised him,  when  his  name  had  flown  from  mouth  to  mouth 
amid  a  quiver  of  horror,  a  death-like  silence  at  last  fell 
from  one  to  the  other  end  of  the  great  square. 

'  Listen  to  me!  listen  to  me!     I  will  tell  you  everything!  ' 

Raised  above  the  heads  of  all  the  others,  with  the  broad 
sunlight  streaming  on  him,  he  clung  with  one  hand  to  the 
iron  railing,  while  with  the  other  he  went  on  making  vehe- 
ment gesticulations  as  if  he  were  sabring  the  air.  His 
threadbare  frock-coat  hung  closely  to  his  withered,  knotty 
frame,  and  with  his  dusky  face,  from  which  jutted  the  big 
beak  of  a  bird  of  prey,  he  looked  quite  terrible,  like  some 
phantom  of  the  past,  whose  eyes  glowed  with  the  flames  of 
all  the  abominable  passions  of  long  ago. 

'You  speak  of  truth  and  justice,'  he  cried.  'But  you 
know  nothing,  and  you  are  not  just!  .  .  .  You  all  fall 
upon  me,  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  the  only  culprit,  whereas 
others  sinned  more  even  than  I  did.  I  may  have  been  a 
criminal,  but  others  accepted  my  crime,  hid  it,  and  con- 
tinued it.  ...  Wait  a  little  while;  you  will  see  by- 
and-by  that  I  don't  lack  the  courage  to  confess  my  sin. 
But  why  am  I  the  only  one  ready  to  confess  ?  Why  is  n't 
my  master,  my  chief,  the  all-powerful  Father  Crabot,  here 
also,  ready  to  humiliate  himself  and  tell  everything  ?  Let 
him  come !  Go  and  fetch  him  from  his  hiding-place,  and  let 
him  confess  his  sins  before  you  and  do  penitence  beside 
me.  Otherwise  I  shall  speak  out;  I  shall  proclaim  his 
crime  with  mine,  for  though  I  be  the  most  humble,  the 


TRUTH  553 

most  miserable  of  sinners,  God  is  in  me,  and  it  is  God  who 
demands  expiation  of  him  as  of  me.' 

Then,  in  the  bitterest  language,  he  declared  that  all  his 
superiors,  Father  Crabot  at  the  head  of  them,  were  but 
degenerate  Catholics,  poltroons,  and  enjoyers  of  life.  The 
Church  was  dying  by  reason  of  their  cowardice,  their  com- 
promises with  the  weaknesses  and  the  vanities  of  the  world. 
It  was,  indeed,  his  favourite  theory  that  all  true  religious 
spirit  had  departed  from  those  monks,  those  priests,  and 
those  bishops,  who  ought  to  have  ensured  the  reign  of  Jesus 
by  fire  and  sword.  Earth  and  mankind  belonged  to  God 
alone,  and  God  had  given  them  to  His  Church,  the  sovereign 
delegate  of  His  power.  The  Church  therefore  possessed 
everything,  and  held  absolute  dominion  over  everybody 
and  everything.  To  her  belonged  the  disposal  of  wealth; 
none  could  be  wealthy  save  by  her  permission.  To  her 
belonged  even  the  disposal  of  life,  for  every  living  man  was 
her  subject,  whom  she  allowed  to  live  or  suppressed  accord- 
ing to  the  interests  of  Heaven.  Such  was  the  doctrine  from 
which  the  true  saints  had  never  departed.  He,  a  mere 
humble  Ignorantine,  had  always  practised  and  exalted  that 
doctrine,  and  his  superiors,  though  they  had  wronged  him 
in  other  respects,  had  always  recognised  in  him  the  rare 
merit  of  possessing  the  true,  absolute  religious  spirit; 
whereas  they  themselves — the  Crabots,  the  Philibins,  and 
the  Fulgences — had  ruined  religion  by  their  compromises, 
their  trickery  with  the  Freethinkers,  the  Jews,  the  Protest- 
ants, and  the  Freemasons.  Like  opportunists,  anxious  to 
please,  they  had  gradually  abandoned  dogmas  and  concealed 
the  asperity  of  doctrines,  whereas  they  ought  to  have  fought 
openly  against  impiety,  and  have  slaughtered  and  burnt  all 
heretics.  He  himself  dreamt  of  seeing  a  huge  sacrificial 
pyre  set  up  in  the  midst  of  Paris,  on  which  he  would  have 
cast  the  whole  guilty  nation,  in  order  that  the  flames  and 
the  stench  from  all  those  millions  of  bodies  might  have 
ascended  to  the  glowing  skies  to  rejoice  and  appease  the 
Deity. 

And  he  next  exclaimed:  'As  soon  as  a  sinner  confesses 
and  does  penance,  he  is  no  longer  guilty,  he  again  recovers 
the  grace  of  his  Sovereign  Master.  What  man  is  there  who 
never  sins  ?  All  who  are  made  of  flesh  are  liable  to  err. 
Even  like  the  layman,  he  who  is  in  holy  orders  and  whom 
the  beast,  which  is  in  all  men,  precipitates  into  crime  has 
but  one  obligation  cast  upon  him — that  of  confession;  and 


554  TRUTH 

if  he  receives  absolution,  if  he  expiates  his  sin  with  firm 
repentance,  he  redeems  himself,  he  becomes  again  as  white 
as  snow,  worthy  to  enter  into  Heaven,  among  the  roses  and 
lilies  of  Mary.  ...  I  confessed  my  sin  to  Father 
Th£odose,  who  absolved  me,  and  I  owed  nothing  more  to 
anybody,  since  God,  who  ordains  and  knows  all  things,  had 
pardoned  me  by  the  sacrament  of  one  of  His  ministers. 
And  in  the  same  way,  from  that  day  forward,  each  time 
that  I  lied,  each  time  that  my  superiors  compelled  me  to 
lie,  I  went  back  to  the  confessional,  and  I  washed  my  soul 
clean  of  all  the  impurities  with  which  human  fragility  had 
soiled  it.  Alas!  I  have  often  and  I  have  greatly  sinned, 
for  God,  in  order  no  doubt  to  try  me,  has  allowed  the  devil 
to  assail  me  with  all  the  fires  of  hell.  But  I  have  battered 
my  chest  with  my  fists,  I  have  made  my  knees  bleed  by 
dragging  them  over  the  flagstones  of  chapels — I  have  paid, 
and  I  repeat  that  I  owe  nothing  whatever.  A  flight  of 
archangels  would  bear  me  straight  to  Paradise  if  I  should 
die  by-and-by,  ere  lapsing  again  into  the  original  mire, 
whence  in  common  with  all  men  I  have  sprung.  And  in 
particular  I  owe  nothing  to  men;  I  have  never  owed  them 
anything;  my  crime  lies  between  God  and  me,  His  servant. 
But  He  has  forgiven  me,  and  so,  if  I  speak  here  to-day,  it  is 
because  I  choose  to  do  so,  because  I  desire  to  couple  with 
the  Divine  mercy  the  martyrdom  of  a  last  humiliation,  in 
order  that  I  may  enter  Paradise  in  triumph — a  celestial  joy 
which,  whatever  my  abjection,  I  shall  assuredly  taste,  thanks 
to  my  penitence;  whereas  you  will  never  taste  it — race  of 
unbelievers  and  blasphemers  that  you  are,  destined,  one 
and  all,  to  the  flames  of  hell!  ' 

Amid  his  sombre  fury,  that  transport  of  savage  faith 
which  had  raised  him  there,  alone  and  impudent,  face  to 
face  with  the  multitude,  Gorgias  again  began  to  jeer.  And 
there  came  to  him  that  habitual  twitching  of  the  lips,  which 
disclosed  some  of  his  teeth  in  a  grimace  suggestive  of  both 
scorn  and  cruelty.  Polydor,  who  for  a  moment  had  seemed 
quite  scared,  and  had  gazed  at  him  with  dilated  eyes, 
blurred  by  his  drunkenness,  had  now  fallen  beside  the  rail- 
ing, overcome  by  sleepiness  and  already  snoring.  The 
crowd,  in  horrified  expectancy  of  the  promised  confession, 
had  hitherto  preserved  death-like  silence.  But  it  was  now 
growing  weary  of  that  long  oration,  in  which  it  found  all 
the  unconquerable  pride  and  insolence  of  the  Churchman 
who  deems  himself  all-powerful  and  inviolate.  What  did 


TRUTH  555 

the  scamp  mean  by  that  speech  ?  Why  did  he  not  content 
himself  with  stating  the  facts  ?  What  was  the  use  of  such 
a  long  preamble  when  a  dozen  words  would  have  sufficed  ? 
Thus  a  growl  arose,  and  a  rush  would  have  swept  Gorgias 
away  if  Marc,  now  very  attentive  and  fully  master  of  him- 
self, had  not  stepped  forward  and  with  a  gesture  calmed  the 
growing  impatience  and  anger.  Moreover,  Gorgias  re- 
mained imperturbable.  Despite  all  interruptions,  he  went 
on  repeating  in  the  same  shrill  voice  that  he  alone  was 
brave,  that  he  alone  was  really  upon  God's  side,  and  that 
the  other  sinners,  the  cowards,  would  after  all  have  to  pay 
for  their  transgressions,  since  God  had  set  him  there  to 
make  public  confession  on  their  behalf  as  well  as  his  own, 
this  being  a  supreme  expiation,  whence  the  Church,  com- 
promised by  her  unworthy  leaders,  would  emerge  rejuven- 
ated and  for  ever  victorious. 

Then  all  at  once,  as  if  he  were  a  prey  to  the  wildest 
remorse,  he  beat  his  chest  violently  with  both  fists,  and 
cried  in  distressful,  tearful  accents:  '  I  have  sinned,  O  God! 
O  God,  do  Thou  forgive  me!  Release  me  from  the  claws 
of  the  devil,  O  God,  that  I  may  yet  bless  Thy  holy  name ! 
.  .  .  Yes,  God  wills  it!  Listen  to  me,  listen  to  me;  I 
will  tell  you  everything!  ' 

Then  he  laid  himself  bare,  as  it  were,  before  the  as- 
sembled throng.  He  spoke  plainly  of  his  gross  appetites; 
he  set  forth  that  he  had  been  a  big  eater,  a  deep  drinker, 
and  that  vice  had  dogged  him  from  his  childhood.  In 
spite  of  all  his  intelligence  he  had  then  refused  to  study;  he 
had  preferred  to  play  the  truant,  to  roam  the  fields,  and  hide 
in  the  woods  with  little  hussies.  His  father,  Jean  Plumet, 
after  being  a  poacher,  had  been  turned  into  a  gamekeeper 
by  the  Countess  de  Qu^deville.  His  mother,  a  hussy,  had 
disappeared  after  giving  him  birth.  He  could  still  picture 
his  father  as  he  had  appeared  to  him  lying  on  a  stretcher  in 
the  courtyard  at  Valmarie,  whither  he  had  been  brought 
dead,  after  two  bullets  had  been  lodged  in  his  chest  by  one 
of  his  former  companions,  a  poacher.  And  subsequently 
he,  Gorgias,  had  been  brought  up  with  the  Countess's 
grandson,  Gaston,  an  unmanageable  lad,  who  also  refused 
to  study,  preferring  to  hide  himself  away  with  little  hussies, 
climb  poplar  trees  for  magpies'  nests,  and  wade  the  rivers 
in  search  of  crawfish.  At  that  time  he,  Gorgias,  had  be- 
come acquainted  with  Father  Philibin,  Gaston's  tutor,  and 
Father  Crabot,  who  was  then  in  all  his  manly  prime,  adored 


TRUTH 

by  the  old  Countess,  and  already  the  real  master  of  Val- 
marie.  Then,  with  sudden  abruptness,  plainly  and  brutally, 
Gorgias  related  how  Gaston,  the  grandson  and  heir,  had 
come  by  his  death — a  death  which  he  had  witnessed  from 
a  distance,  and  of  which  he  had  kept  the  terrible  secret  for 
so  many  years.  The  boy  had  been  deliberately  pushed  into 
the  river  and  drowned  there,  the  misfortune  being  attributed 
to  an  accident,  in  such  wise  that  a  few  months  later  the  old 
Countess  finally  bestowed  her  property  upon  Father  Crabot. 

Striking  his  breast  with  increasing  fury,  beside  himself 
with  contrition,  Gorgias  continued  amid  his  sobs:  '  I  have 
sinned,  I  have  sinned,  O  God!  And  my  superiors  have 
sinned  still  more  frightfully  than  I,  for  it  was  they,  O  God ! 
who  ever  set  me  an  evil  example!  .  .  .  But  since  I  am 
here  to  expiate  their  sins  as  well  as  mine  by  confessing 
everything,  O  God,  perchance  Thou  wilt  pardon  them  in 
Thine  infinite  mercy,  even  as  Thou  wilt  assuredly  pardon 
me  also ! ' 

But  a  quiver  of  indignant  revolt  now  sped  through  the 
crowd.  Fists  were  raised  and  voices  demanded  vengeance; 
while  Gorgias,  resuming  his  narrative,  related  that  from 
that  time  forward  Fathers  Crabot  and  Philibin  had  never 
abandoned  him,  linked  to  him  as  they  were  by  a  bond  of 
blood,  relying  on  him  as  he  relied  on  them.  This  was  the 
old  pact  which  Marc  had  long  suspected — Gorgias  being 
admitted  to  the  Church  and  becoming  an  Ignorantine,  an 
enfant  terrible  of  the  Deity,  one  who  both  alarmed  and  en- 
raptured his  superiors  by  the  wonderful  religious  spirit 
which  glowed  in  his  guilty  flesh.  Again  the  wretched  man 
sobbed  aloud,  and  all  at  once  he  passed  to  the  horrid  crime 
of  which  Simon  had  been  accused. 

'  The  little  angel  was  there,  O  God !  ...  It  is  the 
truth.  I  had  just  taken  the  other  boy  home,  and  I  was 
passing  across  the  dark  square,  when  I  saw  the  little  angel 
in  his  room,  which  was  lighted  up.  .  .  .  Thou  God 
knowest  that  I  approached  him  without  evil  intention, 
simply  out  of  curiosity,  and  in  a  fatherly  spirit,  in  order  to 
scold  him  for  leaving  his  window  open.  And  Thou  know- 
est also  that  for  a  while  I  talked  to  him  as  a  friend,  asking 
him  to  show  me  the  pictures  on  his  table,  sweet  and  pious 
pictures,  which  were  still  perfumed  by  the  incense  of  the 
first  Communion.  But  why,  O  God,  why  didst  Thou  then 
allow  the  devil  to  tempt  me  ?  Why  didst  Thou  abandon 
me  to  the  tempter,  who  impelled  me  to  spring  over  the 


TRUTH  557 

window-bar  under  the  pretence  of  taking  a  closer  look  at 
the  pictures,  though,  alas!  the  flames  of  hell  were  already 
burning  within  me  ?  Ah!  why  didst  Thou  suffer  it,  O  God  ? 
Ah!  verily,  my  God,  Thy  ways  are  mysterious  and  terrible!' 

The  throng  had  now  again  relapsed  into  deathly  silence 
amid  the  frightful  anguish  which  wrung  every  breast  as  the 
ignoble  confession  at  last  took  its  course.  Not  a  breath 
was  heard;  horror  spread  over  all  those  motionless  folk, 
terrified  by  the  thought  of  what  was  coming.  And  Marc, 
who  was  very  white,  quite  scared  at  seeing  the  truth  rise 
before  him  at  last,  after  so  many  lies,  gazed  fixedly  at  the 
wretched  culprit,  who  was  gesticulating  frantically  amid 
the  sobs  which  choked  him. 

'  The  little  child — he  was  so  pretty.  Thou  hadst  given 
him,  O  God!  the  fair  and  curly  head  of  a  little  angel.  Like 
the  cherubs  of  pious  paintings,  he  seemed,  indeed,  to  have 
but  that  angelic  head  with  two  wings.  .  .  .  Kill  him, 
O  God!  Did  I  have  any  such  horrible  thought?  Speak! 
Thou  canst  read  my  heart!  I  was  so  fond  of  him,  I  would 
not  have  plucked  a  hair  from  his  head.  .  .  .  But  it  is 
true  the  fire  of  hell  had  come  upon  me ;  Satan  transported 
me,  blinded  me,  and  the  boy  became  alarmed;  he  began 
to  call  out,  to  call  out,  to  call  out.  .  O  God,  those 

calls,  those  calls!  I  hear  them  always,  always,  and  they 
madden  me! ' 

It  seemed,  indeed,  as  if  Gorgias  were  now  a  prey  to  some 
supreme  paroxysm;  his  eyes  glowed  like  coals  of  fire  in  his 
convulsed  countenance,  a  little  foam  appeared  upon  his 
twisted  lips,  while  his  lean,  bent  frame  quivered  from  head 
to  foot  with  spasmodic  shocks.  And  at  last  a  great  access 
of  rage  transported  him.  Like  one  of  the  damned  whom 
the  devil  turns  with  his  fork  over  the  infernal  brazier,  he 
howled:  '  No,  no,  that's  not  the  plain  truth;  that  again  is 
arranged  and  embellished.  ...  I  must  tell  all,  I  will 
tell  all;  it  is  at  that  price  only  that  I  shall  taste  the  eternal 
delights  of  Paradise!  ' 

What  followed  was  full  of  horror.  He  related  everything  in 
plain,  crude,  abominable  language,  and  when  he  again  came 
to  his  victim's  cries  he  recounted  his  cowardly  terror,  his 
eager  desire  to  conceal  his  crime,  for  his  buzzing  ears 
already  seemed  to  re-echo  the  gallop  of  the  gendarmes  pur- 
suing him.  In  wild  despair  he  had  sought  for  something; 
he  had  searched  his  pocket,  and  finding  some  papers  in  it, 
he  had  stuffed  them  without  foresight  or  method  into  his 


558  TRUTH 

victim's  mouth,  all  eagerness  as  he  was  to  hear  those  ter- 
rible cries  no  more.  But  they  had  begun  again,  and  he  told 
how  he  had  then  murdered,  strangled,  the  boy,  pressing  his 
strong,  bony,  hairy  fingers,  like  iron  bands,  around  the 
child's  delicate  neck,  and  marking  it  with  deep,  dark  fur- 
rows. 

'O  God!'  he  cried,  'I  am  a  hog,  I  am  a  murderous 
brute,  my  limbs  are  stained  with  mire  and  blood! 
And  I  fled  like  a  wretched  coward,  without  an  idea  in  my 
head,  quite  brutified  and  senseless,  leaving  the  window 
open,  and  thereby  showing  my  stupidity  and  the  innocence 
in  which  I  should  have  remained  but  for  the  devil's  unfore- 
seen and  victorious  assault  upon  me.  .  .  .  And  now 
that  I  have  confessed  everything  to  men,  O  God,  I  beg 
Thee,  in  reward  for  my  penitence,  open  to  me  the  doors  of 
Heaven! ' 

But  the  horror-fraught  patience  of  the  crowd  was  now 
exhausted.  After  the  stupor  which  had  kept  it  chilled  and 
mute  there  came  an  outburst  of  extraordinary  violence.  A 
loud  roar  of  imprecations  rolled  from  one  to  the  other  end 
of  the  square,  a  huge  wave  gathered  and  bounded  towards 
the  railings,  towards  the  impudent  wretch,  the  monstrous 
penitent,  who  in  his  religious  dementia  had  thus  dared  to 
proclaim  his  crime  in  the  full  sunlight.  Shouts  arose:  '  To 
death  with  the  scoundrel!  To  death  with  the  murderer! 
To  death  with  the  polluter  and  killer  of  children !  '  And 
Marc  then  understood  the  terrible  danger;  he  pictured  the 
crowd  lynching  that  wretched  man  in  its  craving  for  immed- 
iate justice;  he  beheld  that  festival  of  kindness  and  solid- 
arity, that  triumph  of  truth  and  equity,  soiled,  blackened 
by  the  summary  execution  of  the  culprit,  whose  limbs  would 
be  torn  from  him  and  cast  to  the  four  winds  of  heaven.  So 
in  all  haste  he  strove  to  remove  Gorgias  from  the  railings. 
But  he  had  to  contend  with  his  resistance,  for  the  obstinate, 
frantic  scoundrel  desired  to  say  something  more.  At  last, 
helped  by  the  vigorous  arms  of  some  of  the  bystanders, 
Marc  managed  to  carry  him  into  the  garden,  the  gate  of 
which  was  at  once  shut.  The  rescue  was  effected  none  too 
soon,  for  the  huge  wave  of  the  indignant  crowd  rolled  up 
and  burst  against  the  railings,  which  fortunately  checked 
its  further  progress,  as  they  were  new  and  strong.  Thus 
Gorgias  was  for  the  moment  out  of  reach,  sheltered  by  the 
very  house  which  had  been  built  for  the  innocent  man,  for 
whose  tortures  he  was  responsible.  And  such  was  his 


TRUTH  559 

obstinacy,  that  when  those  who  had  seized  him  released 
their  hold,  thinking  him  conquered,  he  picked  himself  up, 
and,  rushing  back  to  the  railings,  hung  to  them  from  inside. 
And  there,  protected  by  the  iron  bars,  against  which  the 
furious,  surging  throng  was  sweeping,  he  began  once  more: 

4  Thou  didst  witness,  O  God!  my  first  expiation,  when 
my  superiors,  as  foolish  as  they  were  cruel,  abandoned  me 
on  the  road  to  exile!  Thou  knowest  to  what  unacknow- 
ledgeable  callings  they  reduced  me,  what  fresh  and  hateful 
transgressions  they  caused  me  to  commit!  Thou  knowest 
their  base  avarice — how  they  refused  me  even  a  crust  of 
bread,  how  they  refuse  it  still,  after  being  my  counsellors 
and  accomplices  all  my  life  long.  .  .  .  For  thou  wert 
always  present,  O  God !  Thou  didst  hear  them  bind  them- 
selves to  me.  Thou  knowest  that  after  my  crime  I  did  but 
obey  them,  and  that  if  I  aggravated  it  by  other  crimes  it 
was  only  by  and  for  them.  Doubtless  the  desire  was  to  save 
Thy  Holy  Church  from  scandal  —  and  I,  indeed,  would 
have  given  my  blood,  my  life.  But  they  thought  only  of 
saving  their  own  skins,  and  it  is  that  which  has  enraged  me 
and  stirred  me  to  tell  everything.  .  ,  .  And  now,  O 
God!  that  I  have  been  Thy  justiciary,  that  I  have  spoken 
the  words  of  violence  ordained  by  Thee,  and  have  cried 
aloud  their  unknown  and  unpunished  sins,  it  is  for  Thee  to 
decide  if  Thou  wilt  pardon  them  or  strike  them  down  in 
Thy  wrath,  even  before  these  swinish  people,  who  pretend 
to  forget  Thy  name,  and  for  the  roasting  of  whose  sacri- 
legious limbs  there  will  never  be  room  enough  in  hell!  ' 

Threatening  hoots  interrupted  him  at  every  word ;  stones, 
passing  from  hand  to  hand,  began  to  fly  around  his  head. 
The  railings  would  not  have  resisted  much  longer;  in  fact, 
a  last  great  onrush  was  about  to  throw  them  down  when 
Marc  and  his  assistants  again  managed  to  seize  Gorgias  and 
carry  him  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  behind  the  house.  On 
that  side  there  was  a  little  gate  conducting  to  a  deserted 
lane,  and  the  miscreant  was  soon  led  forth,  and  then  driven 
away. 

If,  however,  the  growling,  threatening  crowd  suddenly 
became  calm,  it  was  because  cries  of  joy  and  glorification 
arose  above  the  shouts  of  anger,  drawing  nearer  every  mo- 
ment in  sonorous  waves  along  the  sunlit  avenue.  Simon, 
having  been  received  at  the  railway  station  by  a  deputation 
of  the  Municipal  Council,  was  arriving  in  a  large  landau, 
he  and  David  occupying  the  back  seat,  while  in  front  of 


560  TRUTH 

them  were  Advocate  Delbos  and  Jules  Savin,  the  Mayor. 
As  the  carriage  slowly  advanced  between  the  serried  crowd 
there  came  an  extraordinary  ovation.  Spurred  to  it  by  the 
abominable  scene  which  had  left  everybody  quivering,  they 
acclaimed  Simon  with  the  wildest  enthusiasm,  for  his  inno- 
cence and  his  heroism  seemed  to  have  been  rendered  yet 
more  glorious  by  the  public  confession  now  made  by  the 
real  culprit,  the  savage  and  bestial  Gorgias.  Women  wept 
and  raised  their  children  to  let  them  see  the  hero.  Men 
rushed  to  unharness  the  horses;  and  indeed  they  did  un- 
harness them,  in  such  wise  that  the  landau  was  dragged 
to  the  house  by  a  hundred  brave  arms.  And  all  along  the 
flower-strewn  line  of  route  other  flowers  were  flung  from 
the  windows,  where  handkerchiefs  as  well  as  banners 
waved.  A  very  beautiful  girl  mounted  the  carriage  step, 
and  remained  there  like  a  living  statue  of  youth,  contribut- 
ing the  splendour  of  her  beauty  to  the  martyr's  triumph. 
Kisses  were  wafted,  words  of  affection  and  glorification  fell 
into  the  carriage  with  the  bouquets  which  rained  from 
every  side.  Never  had  people  been  stirred  by  such  intense 
emotion — emotion  wrung  from  their  very  vitals  by  the 
thought  of  such  a  great  iniquity — emotion  which,  seeking 
to  bestow  some  supreme  compensation  on  the  victim,  found 
it  in  the  gift  without  reserve  of  the  hearts  and  love  of  all. 
Glory  to  the  innocent  man  who  had  well-nigh  perished  by 
the  people's  fault,  and  on  whom  the  people  would  never  be 
able  to  bestow  sufficient  happiness!  Glory  to  the  martyr 
who  had  suffered  so  greatly  for  unrecognised  and  strangled 
truth,  and  whose  victory  was  that  of  human  reason  freeing 
itself  from  the  bonds  of  error  and  falsehood !  And  glory  to 
the  schoolmaster  struck  down  in  his  functions,  a  victim  of 
his  efforts  to  promote  enlightenment,  and  now  exalted  the 
more  as  he  had  suffered  untold  pain  and  grief  for  each  and 
every  particle  of  truth  that  he  had  imparted  to  the  ignorant 
and  the  humble! 

Marc,  who  stood  on  the  threshold  of  the  house,  dizzy 
with  happiness,  watching  that  triumph  approach  amid  an 
explosion  of  fraternity  and  affection,  bethought  himself  of 
the  far-off  day  of  Simon's  arrest,  the  hateful  day  when  a 
vehicle  had  carried  him  away  from  Maillebois  at  the  mo- 
ment of  little  Zephirin's  funeral.  A  furious  crowd  had 
rushed  to  seize  him,  roll  him  in  the  mud,  and  tear  him  to 
pieces.  A  horrible  clamour  had  arisen :  '  To  death,  to 
death  with  the  assassin  and  sacrilegist!  To  death,  to  death 


TRUTH  561 

with  the  Jew!'  And  the  crowd  had  pursued  the  rolling 
wheels,  unwilling  to  relinquish  its  prey,  while  Simon,  pale 
and  frozen,  responded  with  his  ceaseless  cry:  '  I  am  inno- 
cent! I  am  innocent!  I  am  innocent!  '  And  now  that 
after  long  years  that  innocence  was  manifest,  how  striking 
was  the  transformation!  The  crowd  was  rejuvenated, 
transfigured;  the  children  and  the  grandchildren  of  the 
blind  insulters  of  former  days  had  grown  up  in  knowledge 
of  truth,  and  become  enthusiastic  applauders,  striving  by 
dint  of  sincerity  and  affection  to  redeem  the  crime  of  their 
forerunners! 

But  the  landau  drew  up  before  the  garden  gate,  and  the 
emotion  increased  when  Simon  was  seen  to  alight  with  the 
help  of  his  brother  David,  who  had  remained  more  nimble 
and  vigorous.  Emaciated,  reduced  to  a  shadow,  Simon  had 
white  hair  and  a  gentle  countenance,  softened  by  extreme 
age.  He  smiled  his  thanks  to  David,  and  again  there  were 
frantic  acclamations  at  the  sight  of  those  two  brothers, 
bound  together  by  long  years  of  heroism.  The  cheers  con- 
tinued when,  after  the  Mayor,  Jules  Savin,  Delbos  also 
alighted — the  great  Delbos,  as  the  crowd  called  him,  the 
hero  of  Beaumont  and  Rozan,  who  had  not  feared  to  speak 
the  truth  aloud  in  the  terrible  days  when  it  was  perilous  to 
do  so,  and  who  ever  since  had  worked  for  the  advent  of  a 
just  society.  Then,  as  Marc  went  forward  to  meet  Simon 
and  David,  whom  Delbos  had  just  joined,  the  four  men 
found  themselves  together  for  a  moment  on  the  very  thresh- 
old of  the  house.  And  at  that  sight  there  came  an  increase 
of  enthusiasm.  Cries  were  raised  and  arms  were  waved 
deliriously  as  the  three  heroic  defenders  and  the  innocent 
man,  whom  they  had  rescued  from  the  worst  of  tortures, 
were  seen  thus  standing  side  by  side. 

Then  Simon  impulsively  cast  himself  on  the  neck  of 
Marc,  who  returned  his  embrace.  Both  sobbed,  and  were 
only  able  to  stammer  a  few  words — almost  the  same  as  they 
had  stammered  long  ago,  on  the  abominable  day  when  they 
had  been  parted. 

'  Thank  you,  thank  you,  comrade.  Like  David,  you 
have  been  to  me  a  brother — a  second  brother;  you  saved 
my  own  and  my  children's  honour.' 

'Oh!  I  merely  helped  David,  comrade;  the  victory  was 
won  by  truth  alone.  .  .  .  And  there  are  your  children 
— of  their  own  accord  they  have  grown  up  in  strength  and 
reason.' 

3» 


562  TRUTH 

The  whole  family,  indeed,  was  assembled  amid  the 
garden  greenery;  four  generations  awaited  the  venerable 
old  man,  who  triumphed  after  so  many  years  of  suffering. 
Rachel,  his  wife,  stood  beside  Genevieve,  the  wife  of  his 
dear,  good  friend.  Then  came  those  whose  blood  had 
mingled — Joseph  and  Louise,  Sarah  and  S^bastien,  accom- 
panied by  their  children,  Frangois  and  Therese,  who  were 
followed  by  little  Rose,  the  last  born  of  the  line.  Clement 
and  Charlotte  were  also  present  with  Lucienne.  And  tears 
started  from  all  eyes,  and  endless  kisses  were  exchanged. 

But  a  very  fresh,  sweet  song  arose.  The  children  of  the 
boys'  and  girls'  schools,  the  pupils  of  Joseph  and  Louise, 
were  singing  a  welcome  to  the  former  schoolmaster  of 
Maillebois.  Nothing  could  have  been  more  simple  and 
more  touching  than  that  childish  strophe,  instinct  with 
tenderness  and  suggestive  of  the  happy  future.  Then  a 
lad  stepped  forward  and  offered  Simon  a  bouquet  in  the 
name  of  the  boys'  school. 

'  Thank  you,  my  little  friend.  How  fine  you  look.  .  .  . 
Who  are  you  ?  ' 

'  I  am  Edmond  Doloir;  my  father  is  Leon  Doloir,  a 
schoolmaster;  he  is  yonder,  beside  Monsieur  Salvan.' 

Then  came  the  turn  of  a  little  girl,  who,  in  like  fashion, 
carried  a  bouquet  offered  by  the  girls'  school. 

'Oh!  what  a  pretty  little  darling!  Thank  you,  thank 
you.  .  .  .  And  what  is  your  name  ? ' 

'I  am  Georgette  Doloir;  I  am  the  daughter  of  Adrien 
Doloir  and  Claire  Bongard.  You  can  see  them  there  with 
my  grandpapa  and  grandmamma,  and  my  uncles  and 
aunts.' 

But  there  was  yet  another  bouquet,  and  this  was  pre- 
sented by  Lucienne  Froment  on  behalf  of  Rose  Simon,  the 
last-born  of  the  family,  whom  she  carried  in  her  arms. 
And  Lucienne  recited:  '  I  am  Lucienne  Froment,  the 
daughter  of  Clement  Froment  and  Charlotte  Savin. 
And  this  is  Rose  Simon,  the  little  daughter  of  your  grandson 
Frangois,  and  your  own  great-granddaughter,  as  she  is  also 
the  great-granddaughter  of  your  friend  Marc  Froment 
through  her  grandmother,  Louise.' 

With  trembling  hands  Simon  took  the  dear  and  bonnie 
babe  in  his  arms.  'Ah!  you  dear  little  treasure,  flesh  of 
my  flesh,  you  are  like  the  ark  of  alliance.  .  .  .  Ah, 
how  good  and  vigorous  has  life  proved !  how  bravely  it  has 
worked  in  giving  us  so  many  strong,  healthy,  and  handsome 


TRUTH  563 

offspring!  And  how  everything  broadens  at  each  fresh 
generation;  what  an  increase  of  truth  and  justice  and  peace 
does  life  bring  as  it  pursues  its  eternal  task !  ' 

They  were  now  all  pressing  around  him,  introducing 
themselves,  embracing  him,  and  shaking  his  hands.  There 
were  the  Savins,  Jules  and  his  son  Robert,  the  former  the 
Mayor  who  had  so  actively  helped  on  the  work  of  repara- 
tion, and  who  had  received  him  at  the  railway  station  on 
behalf  of  the  whole  town.  There  were  the  Doloirs  also — 
Auguste,  who  had  built  the  house,  Adrien,  who  had  planned 
it,  Charles,  who  had  undertaken  the  locksmith's  work,  and 
Marcel,  who  had  attended  to  the  carpentry.  There  were 
likewise  the  Bongards — Fernand  and  his  wife  Lucille,  and 
Claire  their  daughter.  And  all  were  mingled,  connected 
by  marriages,  forming,  as  it  were,  but  one  great  family,  in 
such  wise  that  Simon  could  hardly  tell  who  was  who.  But 
his  old  pupils  gave  their  names,  and  he  traced  on  their  aged 
faces  some  likeness  to  the  boyish  features  of  long  ago,  while 
embrace  followed  embrace  amid  ever-increasing  emotion. 
And  all  at  once,  finding  himself  in  presence  of  Salvan,  now 
very  old  indeed,  but  still  showing  a  smiling  countenance, 
Simon  fell  into  his  arms,  saying,  'Ah!  my  master,  I  owe 
everything  to  you;  it  is  your  work  which  now  triumphs, 
thanks  to  the  valiant  artisans  of  truth  whom  you  formed 
and  sent  out  into  the  world! ' 

Then  came  the  turn  of  Mademoiselle  Mazeline,  whom  he 
kissed  gaily  on  both  cheeks,  and  next  that  of  Mignot,  who 
shed  tears  when  Simon  had  embraced  him. 

'  Have  you  forgiven  me,  Monsieur  Simon  ? '  he  asked. 

'  Forgiven  you,  my  old  friend  Mignot!  You  have  shown 
a  valiant  and  noble  heart!  Ah!  how  delightful  it  is  to  meet 
again  like  this!  ' 

The  ceremony,  so  simple,  yet  so  grand,  was  at  last  draw- 
ing to  a  close.  The  house  offered  to  the  innocent  man, 
that  bright-looking  house  standing  on  the  site  of  the  old 
den  of  the  Rue  du  Trou,  smiled  right  gaily  in  the  sunlight 
with  its  decorative  garlands  of  flowers  and  foliage.  And 
all  at  once  the  drapery  which  still  hung  before  the  inscrip- 
tion above  the  door  was  pulled  aside,  and  the  marble  slab 
appeared  with  its  inscription  in  vivid  letters  of  gold :  '  Pre- 
sented by  the  town  of  Maillebois  to  Schoolmaster  Simon  in 
the  name  of  Truth  and  Justice,  and  as  Reparation  for 
the  Torture  inflicted  on  him.'  Then  came  the  signature, 
which  seemed  to  show  forth  in  a  yet  brighter  blaze;  '  The 


564  TRUTH 

Grandchildren  of  his  Persecutors. '  And  at  that  sight,  from 
all  the  great  square,  and  from  the  neighbouring  avenue, 
from  every  window  and  from  every  roof,  there  arose  a 
last  mighty  acclamation,  which  rolled  on  like  thunder — an 
acclamation  in  which  all  at  last  united,  none  henceforth 
daring  to  deny  that  truth  and  justice  had  triumphed. 

On  the  morrow  Le  Petit  Beaumontais  published  an  en- 
thusiastic account  of  the  ceremony.  That  once  filthy  print 
had  been  quite  transformed  by  the  new  spirit,  which  had 
raised  its  readers  both  morally  and  intellectually.  Its 
offices,  so  long  infected  by  poison,  had  been  swept  and 
purged.  The  Press  will,  indeed,  become  a  most  admirable 
instrument  of  education  when  it  is  no  longer,  as  now,  in 
the  hands  of  political  and  financial  bandits,  bent  on  debas- 
ing and  plundering  their  readers.  And  thus  Le  Petit  Beau- 
montais, cleansed  and  rejuvenated,  was  beginning  to  render 
great  services,  contributing  day  by  day  to  increase  of  en- 
lightenment, reason,  and  brotherliness. 

A  few  days  later  a  terrible  storm,  one  of  those  September 
storms  which  consume  everything,  destroyed  the  Capuchin 
chapel  at  Maillebois.  That  chapel  was  the  last  religious 
edifice  of  the  district  remaining  open,  and  several  bigots 
still  attended  it.  At  Jonville,  Abb6  Cognasse  had  lately  been 
found  dead  in  his  sacristy,  carried  off  by  an  apoplectic  stroke, 
which  had  followed  one  of  his  violent  fits  of  anger;  and  his 
church,  long  empty,  was  now  definitively  closed.  At 
Maillebois,  Abbe*  Coquard  no  longer  even  opened  the  doors 
of  St.  Martin's,  but  officiated  alone  at  the  altar,  unable  as 
he  was  to  find  a  server  for  the  Mass.  Thus  the  little  chapel 
of  the  Capuchins,  which,  with  its  big  gilded  and  painted 
statue  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua,  standing  amid  candles  and 
artificial  flowers,  retained  to  the  end  its  reputation  as  a 
miracle-shop,  sufficed  for  the  few  folk  who  still  followed  the 
observances  of  the  Church. 

That  day,  as  it  happened,  they  were  celebrating  there 
some  festival  connected  with  the  saint,1  a  ceremony  which 
had  attracted  about  a  hundred  of  the  faithful.  Yielding 
to  the  solicitations  of  Father  Theodose,  Father  Crabot, 
who  nowadays  remained  shut  up  at  La  De"sirade,  where  he 
intended  to  install  some  pious  enterprise,  had  decided  to 
honour  the  solemnity  with  his  presence.  Thus  both  were 
there,  one  officiating,  the  other  seated  in  a  velvet  arm-chair 

1  The  real  festival  of  St.  Antony  of  Padua  falls  on  June  I3th. —  Trans. 


TRUTH  565 

before  the  statue  of  the  great  saint,  who  was  implored  to 
show  his  miraculous  power  and  obtain  from  God  the  grace 
of  some  dreadful  cataclysm,  such  as  would  at  once  sweep 
away  the  infamous  and  sacrilegious  society  of  the  new  times. 
And  it  was  then  that  the  storm  burst  forth.  A  great  inky, 
terrifying  cloud  spread  over  Maillebois;  there  came  flashes 
of  lightning,  which  seemed  to  show  the  furnaces  of  hell 
blazing  in  the  empyrean,  and  thunderclaps  which  suggested 
salvoes  of  some  giant  artillery  bombarding  the  earth. 
Father  Theodose  had  ordered  the  bells  to  be  rung,  and  a 
loud  and  prolonged  pealing  arose  from  the  chapel,  as  if  to 
indicate  to  the  Deity  that  this  was  His  house  and  should  be 
protected  by  Him.  But  in  lieu  thereof  extermination  came. 
A  frightful  clap  resounded,  the  lightning  struck  the  bells, 
descended  by  the  rope,  and  burst  forth  in  the  nave  with  a 
detonation  as  if  the  very  heavens  were  crumbling.  Father 
The'odose,  fired  as  he  stood  at  the  altar,  flamed  there  like 
a  torch.  The  sacerdotal  vestments,  the  sacred  vases,  the 
very  tabernacle,  were  melted,  reduced  to  ashes.  And  the 
great  St.  Antony,  shivered  to  pieces,  fell  upon  the  stricken 
Father  Crabot,  of  whom  only  a  bent  and  blackened  skeleton 
remained  beneath  all  the  dust.  And  as  if  those  two  minis- 
ters of  the  Church  were  not  sufficient  sacrifice,  five  of  the 
devotees  present  were  also  killed,  while  the  others  fled, 
howling  with  terror,  eager  to  escape  being  crushed  by  the 
vaulted  roof,  which  cracked,  then  crumbled  in  a  pile  of 
remnants,  leaving  nought  of  the  cult  intact. 

The  stupefaction  was  universal  throughout  Maillebois. 
How  could  the  Deity  of  the  Holy  Roman  and  Apostolic 
Church  have  made  such  a  mistake  ?  The  same  question 
had  often  been  asked  in  former  times — each  time,  indeed, 
that  a  church  had  been  struck  and  its  steeple  had  fallen  on 
the  priest  and  the  kneeling  worshippers.  Had  God  de- 
sired, then,  the  end  of  the  religion  which  had  taken  His 
name  ?  Or,  more  reasonably,  was  it  that  no  Divine  hand 
whatever  guided  the  lightning,  and  that  it  was  but  a  natural 
force,  which  would  prove  a  source  of  happiness  whenever 
mankind  should  have  domesticated  it  ?  In  any  case,  after 
the  calamity,  Brother  Gorgias  suddenly  reappeared  and 
was  seen  hurrying  along  the  streets  of  Maillebois,  crying 
aloud  that  God  had  made  no  mistake.  It  was  to  him,  he 
said,  that  God  had  hearkened,  resolving  to  strike  down  his 
imbecile  and  cowardly  superiors,  and  thus  give  a  lesson  to 
the  whole  Church,  which  could  only  flourish  anew  by  the 


566  TRUTH 

power  of  fire  and  steel.  And  a  month  later  Gorgias  him- 
self was  found,  his  skull  split,  his  body  soiled  with  filth, 
outside  the  same  suspicious  house  before  which,  some  time 
previously,  a  passer  had  already  found  the  body  of  Victor 
Milhomme. 


IV 

YEARS,  and  again  years,  elapsed,  and,  thanks  to  the 
generosity  of  life, — which,  as  Marc  had  lived  and 
served  it  so  well,  wished,  it  seemed,  to  reward  him 
by  keeping  him  and  his  adored  Genevieve  erect  like  tri- 
umphant spectators, — he,  now  over  eighty,  still  tasted  the 
supreme  joy  of  seeing  his  dreams  fulfilled  yet  more  and 
more. 

Generations  continued  to  arise,  each  more  freed,  more 
purified,  more  endowed  with  knowledge  than  its  forerun- 
ners. In  former  days  there  had  been  two  Frances,  each 
receiving  a  different  education,  remaining  ignorant  of  the 
other,  hating  it,  and  contending  with  it.  For  the  multitude 
of  the  nation,  for  the  immense  majority  of  the  country  folk, 
there  had  only  been  what  was  called  elementary  instruction 
— reading,  writing,  a  little  arithmetic,  the  rudiments  which 
raised  man  just  a  span  above  the  level  of  the  brute  beast. 
To  the  bourgeoisie,  the  petty  minority  of  the  elect,  who 
had  seized  all  wealth  and  power,  secondary  education  and 
superior  education,  every  means  of  learning  and  reigning, 
lay  open.  Thus  was  perpetuated  the  most  frightful  of  all 
social  iniquities.  The  poor  and  the  humble  were  kept 
down  in  their  ignorance  beneath  a  heavy  tombstone.  To 
them  it  was  forbidden  to  learn,  to  become  men  of  know- 
ledge, power,  and  mastery.  At  rare  intervals  one  of  them 
escaped  and  raised  himself  to  the  highest  rank.  But  that 
was  the  exception,  tolerated,  and  cited  with  canting  hypo- 
crisy as  an  example.  All  men  were  equal,  it  was  said,  and 
might  raise  themselves  by  their  own  merits.  But  as  a  first 
step,  by  way  of  preventing  it,  the  necessary  instruction,  the 
enlightenment  due  to  each  and  every  child  of  the  nation, 
was  withheld  from  the  great  majority,  so  intense,  indeed, 
was  the  terror  of  the  great  movement  of  truth  and  justice 
which  would  accrue  from  the  diffusion  of  knowledge — a 
movement  which  would  sweep  away  the  bourgeoisie  and  its 
monstrous  errors  and  compel  disgorgement  of  the  national 

567 


568  TRUTH 

fortune,  in  order  that  by  just  labour  the  city  of  solidarity 
and  peace  might  be  at  last  established. 

And  now  a  France  which  soon  would  be  all  one  was 
being  constituted ;  there  would  soon  be  no  upper  class,  no 
lower  class;  those  who  knew  would  cease  to  crush  and  ex- 
ploit those  who  did  not  know  in  a  stealthy,  fratricidal  war- 
fare, whose  paroxysms  had  often  reddened  the  paving  of 
the  streets  with  blood.  A  system  of  integral  education  for 
one  and  all  was  already  at  work ;  all  the  children  of  France 
had  to  pass  through  the  gratuitous,  secular,  compulsory 
primary  schools,  where  experimental  facts,  in  lieu  of  gram- 
matical rules,  were  now  the  bases  of  all  education.  More- 
over, the  acquirement  of  knowledge  did  not  suffice;  it  was 
necessary  one  should  learn  to  love,  for  it  was  only  by  love 
that  truth  could  prove  fruitful.  And  a  process  of  natural 
selection  ensued  according  to  the  tastes,  aptitudes,  and 
faculties  of  the  pupils,  who  from  the  primary  schools  passed 
to  special  schools,  arranged  in  accordance  with  require- 
ments, embracing  all  practical  applications  of  knowledge 
and  extending  to  the  highest  speculations  of  the  human 
mind.  The  law  was  that  no  member  of  a  nation  was  privi- 
leged ;  that  each  being  born  into  the  world  was  to  be  wel- 
comed as  a  possible  force,  whose  culture  was  demanded  by 
the  national  interests.  And  in  this  there  was  not  only 
equality  and  equity,  but  a  wise  employment  of  the  common 
treasure,  a  practical  desire  to  lose  nought  that  might  con- 
tribute to  the  power  and  grandeur  of  the  country.  And, 
indeed,  what  a  mighty  awakening  there  was  of  all  the 
accumulated  energy  which  had  lain  slumbering  in  the 
country  districts  and  the  industrial  towns!  Quite  an  intel- 
lectual florescence  sprang  up,  a  new  generation,  able  to  act 
and  think,  supplying  the  sap  which  had  long  been  exhausted 
in  the  old  governing  classes,  worn  out  by  the  abuse  of 
power.  Genius  arose  daily  from  the  fertile  popular  soil;  a 
great  epoch,  a  renascence  of  mankind,  was  impending. 
Integral  instruction,  which  the  ruling  bourgeoisie  had  so  long 
opposed,  because  it  felt  that  it  would  destroy  the  old  social 
order,  was,  indeed,  destroying  it,  but  at  the  same  time  it 
was  setting  in  its  place  the  fresh  and  magnificent  blossom- 
ing of  all  the  intellectual  and  moral  power  which  would 
make  France  the  liberator,  the  emancipator  of  the  world. 

Thus  disappeared  the  divided  France  of  former  times, 
the  France  in  which  there  had  been  two  classes,  two  hostile, 
ever-warring  races,  reared,  it  might  have  been  thought,  in 


TRUTH  569 

different  planets,  as  if  they  were  destined  never  to  meet, 
never  to  come  to  an  agreement.  The  schoolmasters,  also, 
were  no  longer  herded  in  two  unfriendly  groups,  the  one 
full  of  humiliation,  the  other  full  of  contempt — on  one  side 
the  poor,  imperfectly  educated  elementary  teachers,  scarcely 
cleansed  of  the  loam  of  their  native  fields,  and  on  the  other 
the  professors  of  the  Lycees  and  the  special  schools,  redo- 
lent of  science  and  literature.  The  masters  who  now  taught 
the  pupils  of  the  primary  schools  followed  them  through  all 
the  stages  of  their  education.  It  was  held  that  a  man 
needed  as  much  intelligence  and  training  to  be  able  to 
awaken  a  boy's  mind,  impart  first  principles,  and  set  him 
on  the  right  road,  as  to  maintain  him  in  it  and  develop  his 
faculties  subsequently.  A  rotatory  service  was  organised, 
teachers  were  easily  recruited,  and  worked  right  zealously 
now  that  the  profession  had  become  one  of  the  first  of  the 
land,  well  paid,  honoured,  and  glorified. 

The  nation  had  also  understood  it  to  be  necessary  that 
the  integral  instruction  it  imparted  should  be  gratuitous  at 
all  stages,  however  great  might  be  the  cost,  for  its  millions 
were  not  cast  stupidly  to  the  winds,  to  foster  falsehood  and 
slaughter — they  helped  to  rear  good  artisans  of  prosperity 
and  peace.  No  other  harvest  could  be  compared  with  that: 
each  sou  that  was  expended  helped  to  give  more  intelligence 
and  strength  to  the  people,  helped  it  to  master  to-morrow. 
And  the  inanity  of  the  great  reproach  levelled  at  the  general 
diffusion  of  knowledge,  that  of  casting  declassts,  rebels, 
across  the  narrow  limits  of  old-time  society,  became  plainly 
manifest  now  that  those  limits  had  crumbled  as  the  new 
society  came  into  being.  The  bourgeoisie,  even  as  it  feared, 
was  bound  to  be  swept  away  as  soon  as  it  no  longer  pos- 
sessed a  monopoly  of  knowledge.  But  if  in  former  years 
each  penniless  and  hungry  peasant's  or  artisan's  son  who 
rose  up  by  the  acquirement  of  knowledge  had  become  a 
source  of  embarrassment  and  danger  by  reason  of  his  eager- 
ness to  carve  for  himself  a  share  of  enjoyment  among  that 
of  those  who  enjoyed  already,  that  danger  had  now  disap- 
peared. There  could  be  no  more  dSclasse's,  since  the  classes 
themselves  had  ceased  to  exist,  and  no  more  rebels  either, 
since  the  normal  condition  of  life  was  the  ascent  of  one  and 
all  towards  more  and  more  culture,  in  order  that  the  most 
useful  civic  action  might  ensue.  Thus  education  had  ac- 
complished its  revolutionary  work,  and  it  was  now  the  very 
strength  of  the  community,  the  power  which  had  both 


5/0  TRUTH 

broadened  and  tightened  the  bond  of  brotherliness,  all 
being  called  upon  to  work  for  the  happiness  of  all,  the 
energy  of  none  remaining  ignored  and  lost. 

That  complete  education,  the  culture  of  the  whole  com- 
munity, which  now  yielded  such  a  magnificent  harvest,  had 
only  become  possible  on  the  day  when  the  Church  had  been 
deprived  of  her  teaching  privileges.  The  separation  of 
Church  and  State,  and  the  suppression  of  the  budget  of 
Public  Worship,  had  freed  the  country  and  enabled  it  to 
dower  its  schools  more  liberally.  The  priest  ceased  to  be 
a  functionary,  the  Catholic  faith  no  longer  possessed  the 
force  of  a  law;  those  who  chose  remained  free  to  go  to 
church,  even  as  to  the  theatre,  by  paying  for  their  seats, 
but,  in  the  result,  the  churches  gradually  emptied.  And  if 
this  occurred  it  was  because  they  no  longer  manufactured 
worshippers,  poor  stupefied  beings,  such  as  they  needed  to 
fill  their  naves.  Long  and  terrible  years  had  elapsed  before 
it  had  become  possible  to  wrest  the  children  from  the  teach- 
ers of  the  Church,  those  who  had  poisoned  mankind  through 
the  ages,  who  had  reigned  over  it  by  falsehood  and  terror- 
ism. From  the  very  first  day  the  Church  had  realised  that 
she  must  kill  truth  if  she  did  not  wish  it  to  kill  her;  and 
what  furious  battles  had  followed,  what  a  desperate  resist- 
ance she  had  offered  in  order  to  delay  her  inevitable  defeat, 
the  resplendent  outpouring  of  Light,  freed  at  last  from 
every  hindrance!  Society  would  soon  be  reduced  to  treat- 
ing her  as  one  treated  those  malodorous  fishwives  whose 
shops  were  closed  by  the  police.  Yet  she,  the  dogmatic 
and  authoritarian  ruler  —  she  who,  imitating  her  Deity, 
strove  to  impose  her  will  on  the  world  by  thunderbolts,  im- 
pudently dared  to  invoke  and  claim  liberty,  in  order  that 
she  might  perpetuate  her  abominable  work  of  debasement 
and  servitude.  Laws  of  social  protection  then  proved  ne- 
cessary; it  became  imperative  to  deprive  her  legally  of  her 
power,  by  refusing  to  her  members,  the  monks  and  the 
priests,  the  right  of  teaching.  And  then  again  what  an 
uproar  followed,  what  frantic  attempts  to  plunge  France 
into  civil  war,  credulous  parents  being  banded  together, 
while  the  religious  orders,  thrust  out  by  the  doorways  once 
more,  slipped  into  their  dens  by  the  windows,  with  the 
obstinacy  of  folk  who  relied  on  the  eternal  credulity  which 
they  fancied  they  had  sown  in  the  minds  of  men !  Did  they 
not  represent  error,  superstition,  and  wretched  human 
cowardice,  and  did  it  not  follow,  therefore,  that  eternity 


TRUTH  571 

was  theirs  ?  But,  for  this  to  be,  they  had  to  retain  their  hold 
upon  the  children,  and,  by  them,  obscure  the  morrow;  and 
it  happened  that  the  morrow  and  the  children  gradually 
escaped  them,  and  that  the  time  came  when  the  Holy 
Roman  Catholic  Church  lay  agonising  beneath  the  crumb- 
ling of  her  idiotic  dogmas,  pierced  and  destroyed  by  science. 
Truth  had  conquered,  the  schools  given  to  all  had  formed 
men  who  knew,  and  who  could  exercise  their  will. 

Thus  hardly  a  day  elapsed  without  Marc  observing  some 
fresh  fortunate  conquest,  some  increase  of  reason  and  com- 
fort. He  and  his  wife  Genevieve  alone  remained  erect  of 
all  the  valiant  generation  which  had  fought  and  suffered  so 
much.  Good  old  Salvan  had  been  the  first  to  depart,  then 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline  and  Mignot  had  followed  him. 
But  of  all  the  deaths  the  most  painful  for  Marc  had  been 
those  of  Simon  and  David,  the  two  brothers,  carried  off 
one  after  the  other  at  an  interval  of  only  a  few  days,  as  if 
they  had  been  still  linked  together  by  their  heroic  frater- 
nity. Madame  Simon  had  preceded  them;  all  who  had 
participated  in  the  monstrous  affair  were  now  beneath  the 
peaceful  soil,  lying  there  side  by  side,  the  good  and  the 
wicked,  the  heroes  and  the  criminals,  all  plunged  in  eternal 
silence.  Many  of  the  children  and  grandchildren,  more- 
over, had  departed  before  their  parents,  for  death  never 
paused  in  his  mysterious  work,  mowing  down  men  as  he 
listed  in  order  to  fertilise  one  or  another  field,  whence  other 
men  would  spring. 

At  last,  quitting  their  retreat  of  Jonville,  Marc  and  Gene- 
vieve had  come  to  reside  again  at  Maillebois,  where  they 
occupied  the  first  floor  of  the  house  presented  to  Simon, 
and  now  belonging  to  his  children,  Joseph  and  Sarah.  She 
and  her  husband  Sebastien  still  resided  at  Beaumont, 
where  the  latter  remained  director  of  the  Training  College. 
But  Joseph,  afflicted  in  the  legs,  almost  infirm,  had  been 
obliged  to  retire;  and  as  his  wife  Louise  had  at  the  same 
time  quitted  the  Maillebois  school,  they  were  now  installed 
on  the  second  floor  of  the  paternal  house,  which  the  family 
shared  in  this  fashion,  well  pleased  to  be  together  during 
the  last  gentle,  declining  days  of  life.  And  if  they  them- 
selves had  given  up  teaching,  they  at  least  had  the  joy  of 
seeing  the  good  work  carried  on  by  their  descendants,  for 
Francois  and  The'rese  had  now  been  appointed  to  the  Maille- 
bois schools,  in  which,  therefore,  three  generations  pf  the 
Camily  had  succeeded  one  another. 


5/2  TRUTH 

The  delight  of  living  side  by  side,  in  close  affection,  had 
lasted  two  years,  when  quite  a  drama  plunged  the  family 
into  grief.  One  of  those  insensate  passions  which  devastate 
a  man  came  upon  Francois,  then  in  all  the  strength  of  his 
two  and  thirty  years,  and  hitherto  so  tenderly  attached  to 
his  wife  Th^rese.  He  became  enamoured  of  a  young 
woman  of  eight  and  twenty  years  named  Colette  Roudille, 
whose  mother,  a  very  pious  widow,  had  lately  died. 
Colette's  father  was  said  to  have  been  The"odose,  the 
Capuchin,  at  one  time  her  mother's  confessor;  and  she 
certainly  resembled  him,  having  a  splendid  head,  with 
blood-red  lips  and  eyes  of  fire.  The  widow  had  lived  on 
a  little  income,  upon  which,  however,  her  son  Faustin, 
twelve  years  older  than  his  sister,  had  encroached  to  such 
a  degree  that  the  old  woman  had  remained  at  last  with 
barely  enough  money  to  buy  bread.  However,  the  little 
clerical  group,  all  that  remained  of  the  once  powerful 
faction  which  had  ruled  the  district,  took  an  interest  in 
Faustin,  and  ended  by  obtaining  a  situation  for  him. 
For  some  months,  then,  he  had  been  keeper  of  the 
estate  of  La  De"sirade,  which  since  Father  Crabot's  death 
had  become  the  subject  of  a  number  of  lawsuits,  and  which 
some  of  the  neighbouring  localities  proposed  to  purchase 
and  turn  into  a  people's  palace  and  convalescent  home, 
even  as  Valmarie  had  been  turned  into  an  asylum  where 
young  mothers  recovered  their  strength.  Thus  Colette 
lived  alone  and  in  all  freedom  at  Maillebois,  almost  in  front 
of  the  school;  and  it  was  certain  that  the  glow  of  her  fine 
eyes  and  the  smile  of  her  red  lips  had  largely  helped  on  the 
passion  which  was  maddening  Frangois. 

But  it  happened  that  one  day  The"rese  surprised  them, 
and  dolorous  anger  came  upon  her,  the  more  particularly 
as  she  was  not  the  only  one  who  might  suffer  from  her  hus- 
band's folly.  Might  it  not,  indeed,  prove  a  disaster  for 
their  daughter  Rose,  who  was  now  near  her  twelfth  birth- 
day ?  At  one  moment  Therese  appealed  to  her  parents, 
S£bastien  and  Sarah,  wishing  to  have  their  views  respecting 
the  course  she  ought  to  take.  She  spoke  of  a  separation, 
offering  to  restore  freedom  to  the  husband  who  had  ceased 
to  love  her  and  who  told  her  lies.  But  she  remained  very 
calm,  firm,  and  sensible  in  her  trouble,  and  she  soon  under- 
stood that  on  this  occasion  it  was  wise  and  fit  to  forgive. 
Moreover,  Marc  and  Genevieve,  afflicted  by  the  rupture,  lec- 
tured their  grandson  Francois  severely,  and  he  evinced  great 


TRUTH  573 

sorrow,  recognising  that  he  was  in  the  wrong,  and  accepting 
the  most  violent  reproaches.  But  even  while  he  confessed 
his  fault,  he  unhappily  remained  disturbed,  full  of  anguish, 
with  an  evident  fear  that  his  passion  might  again  overcome 
him.  Never  had  Marc  so  cruelly  realised  the  fragility  of 
human  happiness.  It  was  not  sufficient,  then,  that  one 
should  instruct  men  and  lead  them  towards  justice  by  the 
paths  of  truth;  it  was  also  necessary  that  passion  should 
not  rend  them  and  cast  them  one  against  the  other  like 
madmen.  Marc  had  spent  his  life  fighting  in  order  that  a 
little  light  might  extricate  the  children  from  the  dim  gaol 
in  which  their  fathers  had  groaned;  and,  in  giving  more 
happiness  to  others,  he  thought  he  had  given  it  to  his  own 
family.  Yet  now,  at  the  hearth  of  his  grandson,  who  had 
seemed  quite  freed  from  error  and  very  sensible,  another 
form  of  suffering  displayed  itself — the  suffering  of  love, 
with  its  eternal  felicity  and  eternal  torture!  It  was  evident 
that  one  must  not  be  proud  of  one's  knowledge,  that  one 
must  not  set  all  one's  strength  in  it.  It  was  necessary  that 
one  should  also  be  prepared  to  suffer  in  one's  heart,  and 
strive  to  make  it  valiant  in  order  that  it  might  bear  up 
against  a  rending  which  always  remained  possible.  And, 
again,  it  was  wrong  to  think  that  it  was  sufficient  to  do  good 
in  order  to  be  sheltered  from  the  blows  of  evil.  But  though 
Marc  said  all  those  things  to  himself,  placing  a  very  modest 
estimate  on  the  work  he  had  accomplished,  he  still  felt  very 
sad  as  he  saw  mankind  voluntarily  leaving  some  of  its  flesh 
on  all  the  briars  of  its  path,  and  lingering  there,  as  if  un- 
willing to  reach  the  happy  city. 

The  holidays  arrived,  and  all  at  once  Frangois  disap- 
peared. It  seemed  as  if  he  had  waited  to  be  rid  of  his 
pupils  in  order  to  go  off  with  Colette,  the  shutters  of  whose 
windows  facing  the  High  street  remained  closed.  Wishing 
to  stifle  the  scandal,  the  family  related  that,  as  Francois 
was  in  poor  health,  he  had  gone  with  a  friend  to  take  an 
air  cure  abroad  during  the  holidays.  A  tacit  understand- 
ing ensued  in  Maillebois — everybody  pretended  to  accept 
that  explanation  out  of  regard  for  Tne"rese,  the  forsaken 
wife,  who  was  much  liked  and  respected ;  but  nobody  really 
remained  ignorant  of  the  true  cause  of  her  husband's  flight. 
She  behaved  admirably  in  those  painful  circumstances, 
hiding  her  tears,  preserving  perfect  dignity  in  her  home. 
In  particular  she  bestowed  increased  tenderness  on  her 
daughter  Rose,  from  whom,  unfortunately,  she  could  not 


574  TRUTH 

hide  the  facts,  but  in  whom  she  inculcated  a  continuance 
of  respect  for  her  father  in  spite  of  his  bad  conduct. 

A  month  went  by,  and  Marc,  who  was  deeply  grieved, 
still  visited  Therese  every  day,  when  one  evening  there 
came  a  dramatic,  a  horrible,  occurrence.  Rose  having 
gone  to  spend  the  afternoon  with  a  little  friend  in  the 
neighbourhood,  Marc  had  found  The'rese  alone,  sobbing  in 
silence,  far  away  from  all  prying  eyes.  For  a  long  while 
he  strove  to  comfort  her  and  restore  her  to  some  hope. 
Then,  at  nightfall,  he  was  obliged  to  leave  her  without 
having  seen  Rose,  who  had  remained  apparently  with  her 
little  friend.  The  evening  was  dark,  the  atmosphere  heavy 
with  a  threatening  storm,  and  as  Marc,  eager  to  get  home, 
was  crossing  the  small,  dim  square  behind  the  school,  into 
which  looked  the  window  of  the  room  once  occupied  by 
little  Zephirin,  he  suddenly  heard  a  confused  noise  of  foot- 
steps and  calls. 

'What  is  the  matter  ?  What  is  the  matter  ? '  he  exclaimed 
as  he  went  forward. 

He  felt  a  chill  in  his  veins,  though  why  it  was  he  could 
not  tell.  Apparently  some  gust  of  terror,  coming  from 
afar,  was  sweeping  by.  And  at  last  in  the  faint  light  Marc 
perceived  a  man  whom  he  recognised  as  a  certain  Marsouil- 
lier, a  poor  nephew  of  the  deceased  Philis,  at  one  time 
mayor  of  Maillebois.  Marsouillier  now  acted  as  beadle  at 
St.  Martin's,  where,  since  the  destruction  of  the  Capuchin 
Chapel,  a  small  party  of  believers  still  supported  a  priest. 

'  What  is  the  matter  ? '  Marc  repeated,  surprised  to  see 
that  the  other  was  gesticulating  and  mumbling  to  himself. 

Marsouillier  in  his  turn  now  recognised  Marc.  '  I  don't 
know,  Monsieur  Froment,'  he  stammered  with  a  terrified 
air.  '  I  was  passing;  I  had  come  from  the  Place  des 
Capucins,  when,  all  at  once,  I  heard  the  cries  of  a  child, 
choking,  it  seemed,  with  fright.  And  as  I  hastened  up  I 
just  caught  sight  of  a  man  running  away,  while  yonder  on 
the  ground  lay  that  little  body.  .  .  .  Then  I  also  began 
to  call.' 

Marc  himself  now  distinguished  a  pale  and  motionless 
form  lying  on  the  ground.  And  a  suspicion  came  to  him, 
Was  it  this  man  Marsouillier  who  had  ill-used  the  child  ? 
Perhaps  so,  for  curiously  enough  he  was  holding  something 
white — a  handkerchief. 

'And  that  handkerchief  ? '  Marc  asked. 

'  Oh !  I  picked  it  up  here  just  now.     .     .     .     Perhaps  the 


TRUTH  575 

man  wanted  to  stifle  the  child's  cries  with  it,  and  dropped 
it  as  he  ran  away.' 

But  Marc  no  longer  listened;  he  was  leaning  over  the 
little  form  upon  the  ground,  and  an  exclamation  of  frantic 
grief  suddenly  escaped  his  lips:  '  Rose!  our  little  Rose! ' 

The  victim  was  indeed  the  pretty  little  girl,  who,  as  a 
babe,  in  the  arms  of  her  cousin  Lucienne,  had  offered  a 
bouquet  to  Simon  on  the  occasion  of  his  triumph  ten  years 
previously.  She  had  grown  up  full  of  beauty  and  charm, 
with  a  bright,  dimpled,  smiling  face  amid  a  mass  of  fair 
and  wavy  tresses.  And  the  scene  could  be  easily  pictured : 
the  child  returning  home  across  that  deserted  square  in  the 
falling  night,  some  bandit  surprising  her,  ill-using  her,  and 
flinging  her  there  upon  the  ground,  whereupon,  hearing  a 
sound  of  footsteps,  he  had  been  seized  with  terror  and  had 
fled.  The  child  did  not  stir;  she  lay  there  as  if  lifeless,  in 
her  little  white  frock  figured  with  pink  flowerets,  a  holiday 
frock  which  her  mother  had  allowed  her  to  wear  for  her 
visit  to  her  friend. 

'Rose!  Rose!'  called  Marc,  who  was  beside  himself. 
1  Why  do  you  not  answer  me,  my  darling  ?  Speak,  say  only 
one  word  to  me,  only  one  word.' 

He  touched  her  gently,  not  daring  as  yet  to  raise  her 
from  the  ground.  And,  talking  to  himself,  he  said,  '  She 
has  only  fainted;  I  can  tell  that  she  is  breathing.  But  I 
fear  that  something  is  broken.  .  .  .  Ah!  misfortune 
dogs  us;  here  again  is  grief  indeed! ' 

Indescribable  terror  came  upon  him  as  all  the  frightful 
past  suddenly  arose  before  his  mind's  eye.  There,  under 
that  tragic  window,  close  to  that  room  where  the  wretched 
Gorgias  had  killed  little  Ze"phirin,  he  had  now  found  his 
own  great-granddaughter,  his  well-loved  little  Rose,  who  was 
assuredly  hurt,  and  who  in  all  probability  only  owed  her 
salvation  to  the  accidental  arrival  of  a  stranger.  Who  was 
it  that  had  brought  about  that  awful  renewal  of  the  past  ? 
What  new  and  prolonged  anguish  was  foreboded  by  that 
crime  ?  As  if  by  the  glow  of  a  great  lightning  flash,  Marc, 
at  that  horrible  moment,  saw  all  his  past  life  spread  out, 
and  lived  all  his  battles  and  all  his  sufferings  anew. 

Marsouillier,  however,  had  remained  there  with  the 
handkerchief  in  his  hand.  He  ended  by  slipping  it  into  his 
pocket  in  an  embarrassed  way,  like  a  man  who  had  not  said 
all  he  knew,  and  who  devoutly  wished  that  he  had  not 
crossed  the  square  that  evening. 


576  TRUTH 

1  One  ought  not  to  leave  her  there,  Monsieur  Froment,' 
he  said  at  last.  '  You  are  not  strong  enough  to  pick  her  up; 
if  you  like  I  will  take  her  in  my  arms  and  carry  her  to  her 
mamma's,  as  it  is  close  by.' 

Marc  was  compelled  to  accept  the  offer,  and  followed  the 
sturdy  beadle,  who  took  the  child  up  very  gently,  without 
rousing  her  from  her  fainting  fit.  In  this  wise  they  reached 
the  mother's  door,  and  for  her  what  a  shock  it  was  when 
she  beheld  her  well-loved  child,  now  her  only  joy  and  com- 
fort, brought  back  to  her  insensible,  as  pale  as  death  in  her 
bright  frock,  and  with  her  beautiful  hair  streaming  loosely 
about  her!  The  frock  was  in  shreds,  a  lock  of  hair  which 
had  been  torn  off  was  caught  in  the  lace  collar.  And  the 
struggle  must  have  been  terrible,  for  the  child's  wrenched 
hands  were  all  bruised,  and  her  right  arm  hung  down  so 
limply  that  it  was  certainly  broken. 

Th^rese,  distracted,  beside  herself,  repeated  amid  her 
choking  sobs:  'Rose,  my  little  Rose!  They  have  killed 
my  Rose!  ' 

In  vain  did  Marc  point  out  to  her  that  the  child  was 
still  breathing,  and  that  not  a  drop  of  blood  was  to  be 
seen;  the  mother  still  repeated  that  her  child  was  dead. 
But  Marsouillier  carried  the  girl  upstairs  and  laid  her  on  a 
bed,  where  all  at  once  she  suddenly  opened  her  eyes  and 
gazed  around  her  with  indescribable  terror.  Then,  shiver- 
ing the  while,  she  began  to  stammer:  '  Oh,  mamma, 
mamma,  hide  me,  I  am  frightened!  ' 

Thunderstruck  by  her  revival  to  consciousness,  The>ese 
sank  on  the  bed  beside  her,  caught  her  in  her  arms  and 
pressed  her  to  her  bosom,  so  overcome  by  emotion  that  she 
could  no  longer  speak.  Marc,  however,  begged  the  assist- 
ant teacher,  who  happened  to  be  present,  to  go  for  a  doc- 
tor; and  then,  quite  upset  by  the  mystery,  endeavoured  to 
fathom  it  at  once. 

'  What  happened  to  you,  my  darling? '  he  inquired;  'can 
you  tell  us  ?  ' 

Rose  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  as  if  to  make  sure  who 
was  speaking  to  her,  and  then,  with  haggard,  wandering 
eyes,  peered  into  all  the  dim  corners  of  the  room.  'I  'm 
afraid,  I  'm  afraid,  grandfather,'  she  said. 

He  endeavoured  to  reassure  her  and  inquired  gently: 
'  Did  nobody  accompany  you  when  you  left  your  little 
friend's  ? ' 

'  I  did  n't  want  anybody  to  come.     The  house  is  so  near. 


TRUTH  577 

And  we  had  played  so  long,  I  was  afraid  I  would  get  home 
still  later. ' 

'And  so  you  came  back  running,  my  darling,  eh  ?  And 
somebody  sprang  on  you ;  that  is  what  happened,  is  it  not  ? ' 

But  the  terrified  child  again  began  to  tremble,  and  did 
not  answer.  Marc  had  to  repeat  his  question.  '  Yes,  yes, 
somebody, '  she  stammered  at  last. 

Marc  waited  till  she  became  calmer,  caressing  her  hair 
the  while,  and  kissing  her  on  the  forehead.  '  You  see,  you 
ought  to  tell  us,'  he  resumed.  '  You  cried  out,  naturally, 
you  struggled.  The  man  wanted  to  close  your  mouth,  did 
he  not  ? ' 

'  Oh,  grandfather,  it  was  all  so  quick !  He  took  hold  of 
my  arms,  and  he  twisted  them  round.  He  wanted  to  drive 
me  out  of  my  senses  and  carry  me  off  on  his  back.  It  hurt 
me  so  dreadfully,  I  thought  I  should  die,  and  I  fell  to  the 
ground :  that  is  all  I  remember. ' 

Marc  felt  greatly  relieved;  he  was  now  convinced  that 
nothing  worse  had  happened,  particularly  as  Marsouillier, 
on  hearing  the  girl's  cries,  had  hastened  to  the  spot.  And 
so  he  asked  but  one  question  more:  'And  would  you  be 
able  to  recognise  the  man,  my  dear  ? ' 

Again  Rose  quivered,  and  her  eyes  became  quite  wild  as 
if  some  terrible  vision  was  rising  before  her.  Then,  cover- 
ing her  face  with  her  hand,  she  relapsed  into  stubborn 
silence.  As  her  glance  had  already  fallen  on  Marsouillier 
and  she  had  raised  no  exclamation  on  seeing  him,  Marc 
realised  that  he  had  been  mistaken  when  he  had  suspected 
the  beadle  of  the  crime.  Nevertheless  he  wished  to  ques- 
tion him  also;  for,  even  allowing  that  he  had  spoken  the 
truth,  it  might  be  that  he  had  not  told  the  whole  of  it. 

4  You  saw  the  man  run  away  ? '  said  Marc.  '  Would  you 
be  able  to  recognise  him  ? ' 

'Oh!  I  don't  think  so,  Monsieur  Froment.  He  passed 
me,  but  it  was  already  dark.  Besides,  I  was  so  disturbed. ' 
And  the  beadle,  who  had  not  yet  fully  recovered  his  com- 
posure, let  a  further  detail  escape  him:  '  He  said  something 
as  he  passed,  I  fancy  ...  he  called  "  Imbecile!  " 

'  What!  Imbecile  ? '  retorted  Marc,  who  was  greatly  sur- 
prised. '  Why  should  he  have  said  that  to  you  ? ' 

But  Marsouillier,  deeply  regretting  that  he  had  added 
that  particular,  for  he  understood  the  possible  gravity  of 
any  admission  on  his  part,  endeavoured  to  recall  his  words. 
'  I  can't  be  sure  of  anything,'  he  said,  '  it  was  like  a  growl. 


5/8  TRUTH 

.     .     .     And  no,  no,  I  should  not  be  able  to  recognise  him. ' 

Then,  as  Marc  asked  him  for  the  handkerchief,  he  drew 
it  from  his  pocket  with  some  appearance  of  ennui,  and  laid 
it  on  a  table.  It  was  a  very  common  kind  of  handkerchief, 
one  of  those  which  are  embroidered  by  the  gross  with 
initials  in  red  thread.  This  one  was  marked  with  the  letter 
F,  and  the  clue  was  a  slight  one,  for  dozens  of  similar 
handkerchiefs  were  sold  in  the  shops. 

Meantime  Therese,  who  had  again  caught  Rose  in  a 
gentle  embrace,  caressed  her  lovingly.  '  The  doctor  is 
coming,  my  treasure,'  she  said.  'I  won't  touch  you  any 
more  till  he  is  here.  It  won't  be  anything.  You  are  not 
in  great  pain,  are  you  ? ' 

'  No,  mother,'  Rose  replied,  '  but  my  arm  burns  me  and 
seems  very  heavy.' 

Then,  in  an  undertone,  Therese,  in  her  turn,  tried  to 
confess  the  girl,  for  the  mysteriousness  of  the  assault  had 
left  her  very  anxious.  But  at  each  fresh  question  Rose 
evinced  yet  greater  alarm,  and  at  last  she  closed  her  eyes 
and  buried  her  head  in  the  pillow,  so  as  to  see  and  hear 
nothing  more.  Every  time  her  mother  made  a  fresh  at- 
tempt, begging  her  to  say  if  she  knew  the  man  and  would 
be  able  to  recognise  him,  the  child  quivered  dreadfully. 
But  all  at  once,  bursting  into  loud  sobs,  quite  beside  her- 
self, almost  delirious,  she  told  everything  in  a  loud,  dis- 
tressful voice,  fancying,  perhaps,  that  she  was  simply 
whispering  her  words  in  her  mother's  ear. 

'  Oh !  mother,  mother,  I  am  so  grieved !  I  recognised 
him — it  was  father  who  was  waiting  there,  and  who  threw 
himself  upon  me!  ' 

Therese  sprang  to  her  feet  in  stupefaction.  '  Your  father  ? 
What  is  it  you  say,  you  unhappy  child  ?  ' 

Marc  and  Marsouillier  also  had  heard  the  girl.  And  the 
former  drew  near  to  her  with  a  violent  gesture  of  incredul- 
ity: 'Your  father?  It  is  impossible!  .  .  .  Come,  come, 
my  darling,  you  must  have  dreamt  that.' 

'  No,  no,  father  was  waiting  for  me  behind  the  school, 
and  I  recognised  him  by  his  beard  and  his  hat.  He  tried 
to  carry  me  away,  and  as  I  would  not  let  him  he  twisted 
my  arms  and  made  me  fall. ' 

She  clung  stubbornly  to  that  account  of  the  affair,  though 
she  could  supply  little  proof  of  what  she  asserted,  for  the 
man  had  not  spoken  a  word  to  her,  and  she  had  only  noticed 
his  beard  and  hat,  remembering  nothing  else,  not  even  his 


TRUTH  579 

features,  which  had  been  hidden  by  the  darkness.  Never- 
theless, that  man  was  her  father,  she  was  sure  of  it; 
nothing  could  efface  that  impression,  which,  if  incorrect, 
might  be  some  haunting  idea  which  had  sprung  from  the 
grief  in  which  she  had  seen  her  mother  plunged  since  the 
departure  of  the  unfaithful  Frangois. 

'  It  is  impossible ;  it  is  madness !  '  Marc  repeated,  for  his 
reason  rebelled  and  protested  against  such  a  notion.  '  If 
Francois  had  wished  to  take  Rose  away  he  would  not  have 
hurt  her — killed  her  almost! ' 

Therese  also  quietly  displayed  a  feeling  of  perfect  cer- 
tainty. '  Francois  is  incapable  of  such  an  action, '  said  she. 
'  He  has  caused  me  a  great  deal  of  grief,  but  I  know  him, 
and  will  defend  him  if  need  be.  .  .  .  You  were  mis- 
taken, my  poor  Rose.' 

Nevertheless  the  unhappy  woman  went  to  look  at  the 
handkerchief  which  had  remained  on  the  table.  And  she 
could  not  restrain  a  nervous  start,  for  it  appeared  to  be  one 
of  a  dozen  marked  with  a  similar  letter  F,  which  she  had 
purchased  for  her  husband  of  the  sisters  Landois,  who  kept 
a  drapery  shop  in  the  High  Street.  On  going  to  a  chest  of 
drawers  Therese  found  ten  similar  handkerchiefs,  and  it  was 
quite  possible  that  Frangois  had  taken  two  away  with  him 
at  the  time  of  his  flight.  However,  the  unhappy  wife  strove 
to  overcome  her  uneasiness,  and  as  firmly  and  as  positively 
as  before,  she  said:  '  The  handkerchief  may  belong  to  him. 
But  it  was  not  he;  never  shall  I  think  him  guilty.' 

The  strange  scene  seemed  to  have  stupefied  Marsouillier. 
He  had  remained  on  one  side,  at  a  loss  apparently  as  to 
how  he  might  quit  those  sorrowing  folk,  and  since  he  had 
heard  the  child's  story  his  eyes  had  been  all  astonishment. 
The  recognition  of  the  handkerchief  brought  his  dismay  to 
a  climax,  and  at  last,  profiting  by  the  arrival  of  the  doctor 
fetched  by  the  assistant  teacher,  he  managed  to  slip  away. 
Marc,  on  his  side,  went  into  the  dining-room  to  await  the 
result  of  the  medical  examination.  Rose's  right  arm  was 
indeed  broken,  but  there  was  nothing  of  a  disquieting 
character  about  the  fracture,  and  the  wrenched  wrists  and 
a  few  bruises  were  the  only  other  marks  of  violence  which 
the  doctor  found.  He,  indeed,  was  most  concerned  re- 
specting the  result  of  the  nervous  shock  which  the  girl  had 
experienced,  for  it  had  been  a  violent  one.  And  he  only 
left  her  an  hour  later,  when  he  had  reduced  the  fracture  and 
saw  her  overcome,  as  it  were,  plunged  in  a  heavy  sleep. 


580  TRUTH 

Marc,  however,  had  meantime  sent  a  message  to  his  wife 
and  Louise,  for  he  feared  that  they  might  be  alarmed  by 
his  failure  to  return  home.  And  they  hastened  to  the 
school,  terrified  by  this  frightful  business,  which  reminded 
them  also  of  the  old  and  abominable  affair.  The"rese  hav- 
ing joined  them,  a  kind  of  family  council  was  held,  the 
door  of  the  bedroom  remaining  open  in  order  that  they 
might  at  once  hear  the  injured  girl  if  she  should  wake  up. 
Marc,  who  was  quite  feverish,  expressed  his  views  at  length. 
What  possible  reason  could  there  have  been  for  Francois  to 
commit  such  a  deed  ?  He  might  have  yielded  to  a  trans- 
port of  passion  by  running  away  with  Colette,  but  he  had 
invariably  shown  himself  to  be  a  loving  father,  and  his  wife 
did  not  even  complain  of  his  manner  towards  herself,  for 
it  had  remained  outwardly  dignified,  almost  deferential. 
Thus,  what  motive  could  have  prompted  him  if  he  were 
guilty  ?  Hidden  away  with  his  mistress  in  some  unknown 
retreat,  it  could  hardly  be  that  he  had  experienced  a  sud- 
den craving  to  have  his  daughter  with  him.  What  could 
he  have  done  with  the  child  ?  She  would  have  been  a  bur- 
den on  him  in  the  life  he  must  be  leading.  And  even  sup- 
posing that  he  had  wished  to  strike  a  cruel  blow  at  his  wife, 
and  reduce  her  to  solitude,  without  a  consolation  remaining 
to  her,  it  was  incredible  that  he  should  have  ill-used  and 
injured  his  daughter,  have  left  her  upon  the  ground  sense- 
less! He  would  simply  have  taken  her  away  with  him. 
Thus,  in  spite  of  Rose's  statements,  in  spite  of  the  handker- 
chief, Franfois  could  not  be  guilty,  the  impossibilities  were 
too  great.  Nevertheless,  faced  as  he  was  by  this  mysterious 
problem,  and  the  task  of  again  seeking  the  truth,  Marc  felt 
disturbed  and  anxious,  for  he  was  convinced  that  Mar- 
souillier  would  relate  what  he  had  seen  and  heard,  and  that 
all  Maillebois  would  be  discussing  the  drama  on  the  morrow. 
And  as  all  the  appearances  were  against  Francois,  would 
public  opinion  denounce  him,  even  as  in  former  days  it  had 
denounced  his  grandfather,  Simon  the  Jew  ?  In  that  case, 
how  could  he  be  defended  ?  what  ought  to  be  done  to  pre- 
vent a  renewal  of  the  monstrous  iniquity  of  long  ago  ? 

'  The  one  thing  that  tends  to  tranquillise  me, '  said  Marc 
at  last,  '  is  that  the  times  have  changed.  We  now  have  to 
deal  with  people  who  have  been  freed  and  educated,  and  it 
will  greatly  surprise  me  if  they  do  not  help  us  to  unravel  the 
truth.' 

Silence  fell.     At  last,  in  spite  of  the  little  quiver  which 


TRUTH  58l 

she  was  unable  to  master,  The'rese  exclaimed  energetically, 
'  You  are  right,  grandfather.  Before  everything  else  we 
must  establish  the  innocence  of  Fran£ois,  which  I  cannot 
possibly  doubt,  whatever  may  be  the  accusations. 
He  has  made  me  suffer  dreadfully,  but  I  will  forget  it,  and 
you  may  rely  on  me,  I  will  help  you  with  all  my  strength.' 

Genevieve  and  Louise  nodded  their  assent.  'Ah!  '  mut- 
tered the  latter,  '  the  unhappy  lad !  When  he  was  seven 
years  old  he  used  to  throw  his  arms  round  me  and  say, 
' '  Little  mother,  I  love  you  very  dearly ! ' '  He  has  a  tender 
and  passionate  nature,  and  thus  one  must  forgive  him  a 
great  deal." 

'  There  is  always  some  resource  when  one  has  to  deal 
with  loving  natures,'  remarked  Genevieve  in  her  turn. 
'  Even  if  they  become  guilty  of  great  transgressions,  love 
helps  them  to  repair  them. ' 

On  the  morrow,  even  as  Marc  had  foreseen,  all  Maillebois 
was  in  a  hubbub.  People  talked  of  nothing  but  that  as- 
sault, of  the  charge  which  the  injured  girl  had  brought 
against  her  own  father,  of  the  handkerchief  picked  up  by  a 
passer,  and  recognised  by  the  wife.  Marsouillier  told  the 
story  to  all  who  were  willing  to  listen  to  him,  and  he  even 
embellished  it  somewhat,  making  out  that  he  had  seen  and 
done  everything  in  connection  with  the  rescue.  He  was 
not  a  malicious  man,  he  was  simply  vain  and  inclined  to 
poltroonery  in  such  wise  that  while  it  flattered  his  feelings 
to  become  a  personage  he  remained  secretly  apprehensive 
of  great  personal  worries  if  the  affair  should  turn  out  badly. 
He  was,  as  already  mentioned,  a  nephew  of  the  pious 
Philis,  and  he  lived  on  his  pay  as  a  beadle,  which  pay  was 
extremely  small  now  that  only  a  few  believers  provided  for 
the  expenses  at  St.  Martin's.  And  it  was  said  that  he 
himself  was  not  a  believer  at  all,  that  his  views  were  really 
very  free  ones,  and  that  if  he  thus  ate  the  bread  of  hypocrisy 
it  was  simply  because  he  was  unable  to  earn  any  other. 
However  that  might  be,  the  few  remaining  worshippers  who 
paid  his  salary,  the  last  Catholics  of  the  district,  who  were 
enraged  by  their  defeat  and  the  abandonment  into  which 
the  Church  was  sinking,  at  once  seized  upon  his  adventure 
and  resolved  to  exploit  that  scandal  which  had  assuredly 
been  vouchsafed  to  them  by  Heaven.  Never  had  they 
dared  to  hope  for  such  an  opportunity  to  resume  hostilities, 
and  they  must  profit  by  the  divine  favour  to  make  a  supreme 
effort.  Thus  black  skirts  were  again  seen  gliding  along  the 


582  TRUTH 

streets  of  Maillebois,  old  ladies  were  again  heard  telling  the 
most  extraordinary  stories.  Some  unknown  person  had  re- 
lated that  she  had  seen  Fran9ois  on  the  night  of  the  crime 
in  the  company  of  two  masked  men,  who  were  Freemasons 
undoubtedly.  And,  as  everybody  knew  that  the  Free- 
masons needed  the  blood  of  a  young  girl  for  their  Black 
Mass,  it  followed  that  Frangois,  after  some  drawing  of  lots, 
had  been  chosen  to  provide  the  blood  of  his  daughter. 
Did  that  not  explain  everything  —  the  sectarian's  savage 
violence,  his  unnatural  ferocity  ?  But  it  happened  that  the 
inventors  of  that  idiotic  fable  could  not  find  a  single  news- 
paper to  print  it,  and  thus  they  had  to  spread  it  by  word  of 
mouth  among  the  poorer  folk.  When  evening  came  it  had 
already  gone  all  round  the  town,  and  had  even  reached 
Jonville,  Le  Moreux,  and  other  neighbouring  villages. 
And  the  seed  of  falsehood  being  sown,  the  plotters  only 
had  to  wait  for  the  poisonous  crop  which  they  hoped  to  see 
arise  from  the  popular  ignorance. 

But,  as  Marc  had  said,  the  times  had  changed.  On  all 
sides  people  shrugged  their  shoulders  when  they  heard  that 
foolish  story.  Such  inventions  had  been  all  very  well  in 
former  times,  when  men  were  children  and  fell  eagerly  on 
improbabilities.  But  nowadays  people  knew  too  much, 
and  a  story  of  that  kind  was  not  accepted  without  due 
examination.  In  the  first  place,  it  was  immediately  ascer- 
tained that  Frangois  did  not  happen  to  be  a  Freemason. 
Moreover,  nobody  had  seen  him  in  the  town ;  and  it  seemed 
certain  that  he  was  hidden  away  at  a  distance  with  that  girl 
Colette,  who  had  disappeared  from  Maillebois  at  the  same 
time  as  himself.  Again,  there  were  all  sorts  of  reasons  for 
thinking  him  innocent.  Indeed  the  whole  district  pro- 
nounced the  same  opinion  on  him  as  his  relatives  had  done. 
He  was  a  man  of  an  amorous  nature,  who  might  yield  to 
a  passionate  transport,  but  he  was  also  a  loving  father,  and 
as  such  incapable  of  ill-treating  his  own  child.  Excellent 
testimony  came  in  from  all  sides.  His  pupils  and  their 
parents  praised  his  gentleness;  several  neighbours  related 
that  in  spite  of  his  errors  he  had  remained  affectionately 
attached  to  his  wife.  Nevertheless,  people  were  confronted 
by  the  accusations  of  Rose,  the  disquieting  clue  of  the 
handkerchief,  the  scene  repeatedly  recounted  by  Marsou- 
illier — the  whole  constituting  an  irritating  mystery,  a  dis- 
tressing problem  for  all  who  were  competent  to  weigh  and 
judge  facts.  If,  indeed,  Frangois  were  not  guilty,  however 


TRUTH  583 

much  appearances  might  be  against  him,  somebody  else 
must  be  the  culprit,  and  who  could  that  be,  and  how  was 
he  to  be  discovered  ? 

Then,  while  the  judicial  authorities  were  inquiring  into 
the  matter,  something  quite  new  was  seen — mere  ordinary 
townsfolk  came  forward,  quite  voluntarily,  to  relate  what- 
ever they  knew,  whatever  they  had  witnessed,  felt,  or  sur- 
mised. Now  that  men's  minds  were  cultivated  there  was  a 
general  desire  for  justice,  a  dread  of  any  possible  error. 
A  Bongard  came  to  say  that  on  the  evening  of  the  assault, 
while  he  was  passing  the  town  hall,  he  had  seen  a  man  who 
looked  somewhat  scared,  and  who  seemed  to  have  run  up 
from  the  direction  of  the  Place  des  Capucins.  And  that 
man  was  not  Francois.  Then  a  Doloir  brought  a  smoker's 
tinder-box,  which  he  had  found  between  two  paving-stones 
behind  the  schools.  And  he  pointed  out  that  this  box 
might  have  fallen  from  the  culprit's  pocket,  and  that  Fran- 
cois did  not  smoke.  A  Savin  also  recounted  that  he  had 
overheard  a  conversation  between  two  old  ladies,  from 
which  he  had  drawn  the  conclusion  that  the  culprit  was  to 
be  sought  among  the  acquaintances  of  Marsouillier,  the 
latter  having  let  his  tongue  wag  while  he  was  in  the  com- 
pany of  certain  friendly  devotees.  But  the  most  intelligent 
and  active  helpers  were  the  sisters  Landois,  who  kept  the 
drapery  shop  in  the  High  Street.  They  had  been  pupils  of 
Mademoiselle  Mazeline;  and,  indeed,  all  the  workers  in  the 
cause  of  truth,  all  the  voluntary  witnesses,  had  passed 
through  the  hands  of  the  secular  teachers,  Marc,  Joulic,  or 
Joseph.  As  for  the  sisters  Landois,  it  had  occurred  to 
them  to  consult  their  books  to  ascertain  the  names  of  the 
persons  to  whom  they  had  sold  handkerchiefs  similar  to  the 
one  which  the  culprit  had  wished  to  employ  as  a  gag.  They 
readily  found  Francois*  name;  and  below  it,  two  days  later, 
they  perceived  that  of  Faustin  Roudille,  the  brother  of  the 
young  woman  Colette,  with  whom  Fran£ois  had  fled.  That 
was  the  first  clue,  the  first  gleam  of  the  light  which  was  to 
spread  and  become  decisive. 

As  it  happened,  this  man  Faustin  had  been  without  a 
situation  for  the  last  fortnight.  After  coming  to  an  agree- 
ment with  the  surrounding  localities,  the  town  of  Maillebois 
had  at  last  purchased  the  magnificent  estate  of  La  D^sirade, 
which  it  intended  to  transform  into  a  People's  Palace,  a 
convalescent  home,  a  public  park,  open  to  all  the  workers 
of  the  region.  Instead  of  some  congregation  of  black 


584  TRUTH 

frocks  being  installed  in  that  delightful  spot,  under  that 
royal  verdure,  among  those  plashing  waters  and  those 
gleaming  marbles,  swains  and  their  lassies,  young  mothers 
and  their  babes,  old  folk  desirous  of  repose,  would  flock 
thither  to  enjoy  the  sweetness  and  splendour  of  the  scene. 
Thus  Faustin,  the  ex-keeper,  a  creature  of  the  last  remain- 
ing clericalists,  had  quitted  the  estate,  and  was  to  be  seen 
prowling  about  Maillebois,  showing  himself  very  bitter  and 
aggressive,  especially  with  respect  to  his  sister  Colette, 
whose  escapade,  said  he,  had  dishonoured  him.  People 
were  somewhat  surprised  by  this  sudden  severity  on  his 
part,  for  nobody  was  ignorant  of  the  good  understanding 
which  had  previously  reigned  between  the  brother  and  the 
sister,  and  the  frequency  with  which  the  former  had  bor- 
rowed money  from  the  young  woman  when  he  knew  her  to 
be  in  funds.  Had  there  been  a  rupture,  then  ?  Was  Faus- 
tin exasperated  with  Colette  because  she  had  taken  herself 
off  just  as  he  lost  his  situation  ?  Or  was  he  playing  some 
comedy,  still  remaining  in  agreement  with  his  sister,  ac- 
quainted with  her  hiding-place,  and  secretly  working  on  her 
behalf  ?  These  points  remained  obscure,  but  the  discovery 
made  by  the  sisters  Landois  directed  general  attention  to 
Faustin,  his  actions,  and  his  words.  A  week,  then,  sufficed 
for  the  inquiry  to  make  considerable  progress. 

First  of  all,  Bongard's  evidence  was  confirmed;  several 
people  now  remembered  that  on  the  evening  of  the  assault 
they  had  met  Faustin  in  the  High  Street,  looking  agitated, 
and  turning  round  as  if  he  wished  to  ascertain  what  might 
be  taking  place  in  the  direction  of  the  schools.  And  it  was 
certainly  he  whom  they  had  seen;  they  had  positively 
recognised  him.  Then,  too,  the  tinder-box  found  by  Doloir 
seemed  to  belong  to  him — at  least,  folk  asserted  that  they 
had  seen  a  similar  one  in  his  hands.  Finally,  the  conversa- 
tion which  Savin  had  overheard,  and  the  hypothesis  of  an 
acquaintance  between  Marsouillier  and  the  culprit  received 
striking  confirmation,  for  the  beadle  and  the  ex-keeper  of 
La  De"sirade  had  been  quite  intimate.  That  seemed  to  be 
the  decisive  fact,  the  clue  which  would  lead  to  full  enlight- 
enment, as  Marc,  who  was  following  the  inquiry  with  im- 
passioned attention,  immediately  understood.  Thus  he 
took  it  upon  himself  to  extract  a  confession  from  Marsou- 
illier. He  recalled  the  beadle's  strange  manner  when  he 
had  found  him  near  Rose  after  the  culprit's  flight.  He 
remembered  that  he  had  seemed  embarrassed  and  anxious, 


TRUTH  585 

disturbed  at  having  to  give  up  the  handkerchief;  and  he 
particularly  recalled  his  stupefaction  when  Rose  had  accused 
her  father,  and  The'rese  had  produced  some  similar  hand- 
kerchiefs from  her  chest  of  drawers.  And  he  was  greatly 
struck  by  that  word  '  Imbecile !  '  which  the  culprit  had  cast 
in  the  beadle's  face,  and  which  the  latter  in  his  perturbation 
had  repeated.  It  was  a  significant  word,  it  was  like  a  re- 
proach hurled  by  a  man  at  a  blundering  friend  whose 
inopportune  arrival  on  the  scene  had  spoilt  everything. 

Thus  Marc  called  upon  Marsouillier.  '  You  know,  my 
man,'  he  said  to  him,  'the  gravest  charges  are  being  ac- 
cumulated against  Faustin;  he  will  certainly  be  arrested 
this  evening.  Are  you  not  afraid  of  being  compromised  ? ' 

Silent,  with  hanging  head,  the  beadle  listened  to  an 
enumeration  of  the  proofs. 

'  Come,  own  that  you  recognised  him !  '  Marc  added. 

'  But  how  could  I  have  recognised  him,  Monsieur  Fro- 
ment  ? '  said  Marsouillier.  '  Faustin  has  no  beard,  and  he 
wears  a  cap ;  whereas  the  man  I  saw  had  a  full  beard  and  a 
felt  hat.' 

Those  were  points  which  Rose  herself  confirmed,  and 
which  as  yet  remained  unelucidated. 

'  Oh !  he  might  have  got  a  hat  somewhere,  and  have  put 
on  a  false  beard,'  Marc  suggested.  'But  in  any  case  he 
spoke;  you  yourself  told  me  so.  Surely  you  must  have 
recognised  his  voice  when  he  called  you  an  imbecile! ' 

Marsouillier  was  already  raising  his  hand  to  contradict 
himself,  and  swear  that  the  man  had  not  pronounced  a 
single  word.  But  Marc's  bright  eyes  were  fixed  upon  him, 
and  as  he  met  their  gaze  his  strength  failed  him.  And 
then,  good-hearted  man  as  he  was  at  bottom,  he  grew  dis- 
turbed, no  longer  having  the  courage  to  do  a  bad  action  in 
some  stupid  spirit  of  vanity. 

'  Naturally  I  have  inquired  into  your  connection  with 
Faustin,'  Marc  resumed.  '  I  know  that  you  and  he  often 
met,  and  that  he  readily  cast  that  expression  ' '  imbecile  ' ' 
in  your  face  when  he  found  you  more  scrupulous  than  he 
liked.' 

'  That 's  true,'  Marsouillier  admitted ;  'he  called  me  an 
imbecile,  and  it  ended  by  being  hardly  pleasant. ' 

Then,  on  being  pressed,  exhorted  to  relieve  his  conscience 
in  his  own  interest,  for  the  authorities  might  believe  him  to 
be  an  accomplice,  he  ended  by  yielding  to  his  fears  as  much 
as  to  his  respect  for  truth.  '  Well,  yes,  Monsieur  Froment, 


$86  TRUTH 

I  did  recognise  him.  .  .  .  Only  he  could  have  called 
me  an  imbecile  in  that  voice.  I  can't  be  mistaken,  he  has 
given  me  that  name  too  many  times.  And  he  must  merely 
have  worn  a  false  beard,  as  you  surmise,  and  have  pulled 
it  off  as  he  ran  away,  for  when  some  people  saw  him  at  the 
corner  of  the  High  Street  he  was  wearing  a  hat,  but  he  was 
shaven  as  usual,  with  no  beard  at  all.' 

Marc  felt  delighted,  for  this  testimony  would  certainly 
prove  decisive.  Shaking  hands  with  Marsouillier,  he  said 
to  him:  'Ah!  I  knew  it  very  well;  you  are  a  good  fellow.' 

'A  good  fellow,  no  doubt.  .  .  .  You  see,  Monsieur 
Froment,  I  am  an  old  pupil  of  Monsieur  Joulic,  and  when 
a  master  has  taught  one  to  love  truth  it  never  goes  away. 
One  may  wish  to  tell  a  falsehood,  but  the  whole  of  one's 
being  rises  up  in  protest.  Besides,  when  one  knows  how  to 
use  one's  reason  a  little,  it  becomes  impossible  to  credit  the 
foolish  things  which  are  put  into  circulation.  I  was  very 
worried  at  heart  about  this  unhappy  affair.  But  then  I  'm 
a  very  poor  man ;  I  have  only  my  post  as  beadle  as  a  means 
of  livelihood,  and  my  position  compelled  me  to  say  the  same 
as  the  old  friends  of  my  uncle  Philis.' 

Then  Marsouillier  paused,  and,  with  a  gesture  of  despair, 
big  tears  gathering  the  while  in  his  eyes,  he  added:  'Ah! 
I  'm  done  for  now.  I  shall  be  turned  out  of  doors,  and  left 
to  starve  in  the  streets.' 

But  Marc  reassured  him  by  a  positive  promise  to  find  him 
some  employment.  And  then  he  hastened  away,  eager  as 
he  was  to  acquaint  The"rese  with  the  result  of  the  interview, 
that  conclusive  testimony  by  which  Franfois  was  completely 
cleared. 

For  a  fortnight  past  The"rese  had  remained  nursing  Rose, 
still  feeling  firmly  convinced  of  her  husband's  innocence,  but 
intensely  hurt  at  receiving  no  news  of  him  in  spite  of  the  stir 
occasioned  by  the  affair,  which  all  the  newspapers  had  re- 
counted. And  since  her  daughter  had  been  recovering, 
already  able  to  get  up,  her  arm  healing  in  a  satisfactory 
manner,  The"rese,  mastered  by  increasing  sorrow,  had  re- 
mained mute,  quite  overcome,  in  her  deserted  home.  But 
that  very  evening,  while  Marc  was  gaily  completing  his 
account  of  his  conversation  with  Marsouillier,  she  experi- 
enced a  great  shock,  for  Francois  suddenly  entered  the 
room.  And  the  scene  was  a  poignant  one,  however  simple 
"light  be  the  words  that  were  exchanged. 

'You  did  not  think  me  guilty,  Therese  ? ' 


TRUTH  587 

4  No,  Francois,  I  assure  you. ' 

'  This  morning,  in  the  sad  solitude  in  which  I  found  my- 
self, I  was  still  ignorant  of  everything.  .  .  .  But  I  happened 
to  glance  at  an  old  newspaper,  and  then  I  hastened  here. 
How  is  Rose  ? ' 

'  She  is  much  better.     She  is  there,  in  the  bedroom.' 

Francois  had  not  dared  to  kiss  his  wife.  She  stood  be- 
fore him,  erect  and  severe  amid  her  emotion.  But  Marc, 
who  had  risen,  caught  hold  of  his  grandson's  hands,  guess- 
ing by  his  pallor,  his  ravaged  face,  which  still  bore  traces  of 
his  tears,  that  he  had  been  involved  in  some  tragic  drama. 

'  Come,  tell  me  everything,  my  poor  lad.' 

Then  Frangois,  in  a  few  quivering  words  and  with  all 
sincerity,  recounted  his  folly — his  sudden  flight  from  Maille- 
bois  on  the  arm  of  that  Colette  who  had  maddened  him; 
their  life  of  seclusion  in  a  lonely  district  of  Beaumont, 
where  they  had  scarcely  quitted  their  room;  a  fortnight's 
cloistered  life,  interspersed  with  furious  storms,  extrava- 
gant caprices  on  the  part  of  that  passionate  gipsy,  re- 
proaches, tears,  and  even  blows;  then,  all  at  once,  her 
flight  nobody  knew  whither,  after  a  last  scene  when  she  had 
flung  the  furniture  at  her  lover's  head.  That  had  happened 
three  weeks  previously,  and  at  first  he  had  awaited  her  re- 
turn, then  buried  himself,  as  it  were,  in  the  seclusion  of 
that  lonely  room,  full  of  despair  and  remorse,  no  longer 
knowing  how  to  return  to  Maillebois  to  his  wife,  whom  he 
declared  he  had  never  ceased  to  love  in  spite  of  all  his  folly. 

While  he  spoke,  Therese,  who  was  still  standing  there, 
had  turned  her  head  aside.  And  when  he  had  finished  she 
said,  '  There  is  no  occasion  for  me  to  know  those  things. 
.  .  .  I  merely  understand  that  you  have  come  back  to 
answer  the  charges  brought  against  you.' 

'Oh!'  Marc  gently  observed,  'those  charges  have  now 
ceased  to  exist.' 

'  I  have  come  back  to  see  Rose,'  Francois  on  his  side  de- 
clared, '  and  I  repeat  that  I  would  have  been  here  the  very 
next  day  if  I  had  not  remained  ignorant  of  everything. ' 

'Very  good,'  Therese  rejoined;  'I  do  not  prevent  you 
from  seeing  your  daughter;  she  is  there — you  may  go  in.' 

There  ensued  a  very  singular  scene  which  Marc  watched 
with  impassioned  interest.  Rose  was  seated  in  an  arm- 
chair, reading,  her  injured  arm  hanging  in  a  sling.  As  the 
door  opened  she  looked  up  and  raised  a  quivering  cry, 
instinct,  it  seemed,  both  with  fear  and  with  joy. 


588  TRUTH 

'Oh!  papa!' 

Then  she  rose,  and  all  at  once  seemed  stupefied.  '  But 
it  was  n't  you,  papa — was  it — the  other  evening  ? '  she 
cried.  '  The  man  was  shorter  and  his  beard  was  different !  ' 

And  she  continued  to  scrutinise  her  father  as  if  she  found 
him  otherwise  than  she  had  pictured  him  since  his  flight — 
since  she  had  watched  her  forsaken  mother  weeping.  Had 
she  pictured  him  as  a  wicked  man,  then,  squat  of  build  and 
with  an  ogre's  face  ?  She  now  recognised  the  father  with 
the  pleasant  smile,  whom  she  adored ;  and  if  he  had  come 
back  it  was  surely  in  order  that  no  more  tears  might  be 
shed  in  their  dear  home.  But  all  at  once  she  began  to 
tremble  at  the  thought  of  the  dreadful  consequences  of  her 
error. 

'And  to  think  I  accused  you,  papa  —  that  I  kept  on 
saying  that  the  man  was  you!  No,  no,  it  was  n't  you,  I 
told  a  story ;  I  will  explain  it  to  the  gendarmes  if  they  come 
to  take  you !  ' 

She  sank  back  in  the  arm-chair,  weeping  bitterly,  and 
her  father  had  to  take  her  on  his  lap,  kiss  her,  and  vow  to 
her  that  their  sorrows  were  all  over.  He  himself  stam- 
mered with  emotion  as  he  spoke.  Had  he  behaved  so 
vilely,  then,  that  he  had  appeared  a  very  monster  in  the 
eyes  of  his  daughter,  and  that  she  had  thought  him  capable 
of  ill-using  her  so  dreadfully  ? 

Th£rese,  meantime,  while  listening,  had  striven  to  remain 
impassive,  saying  never  a  word.  Francois  glanced  at  her 
anxiously,  as  if  to  ascertain  whether  she  would  again  toler- 
ate his  presence  in  that  home  which  he  had  ravaged.  And 
Marc,  noticing  the  severity  of  her  demeanour,  her  unwill- 
ingness to  forgive,  preferred  to  take  his  grandson  away  with 
him  and  provide  him  with  a  lodging  pending  the  advent  of 
a  calmer  hour. 

That  very  evening  the  officers  of  the  law  presented  them- 
selves at  Faustin's  dwelling,  but  they  did  not  find  the  rascal 
there.  The  place  was  closed,  the  man  had  fled,  and  the 
search  for  him  failed :  he  was  never  taken.  People  ended  by 
believing  that  he  had  escaped  to  America.  His  sister  Col- 
ette had  perhaps  accompanied  him  thither,  for  although  she 
was  sought  she  was  never  seen  again,  either  at  Maillebois  or 
at  Beaumont.  And  the  whole  affair  remained  very  obscure ; 
one  was  reduced  to  conjectures.  Had  the  brother  and 
sister  been  accomplices  ?  Had  Colette  co-operated  in  some 
plot  when  she  had  induced  Francois  to  carry  her  off,  or 


TRUTH  589 

had  Faustin  merely  wished  to  avail  himself  in  some  mys- 
terious manner  of  the  situation  which  the  elopement  had 
created  ?  But  the  chief  point  of  all  was  whether  there  had 
been  some  superior  behind  him,  some  man  of  intelligence 
and  will,  who  had  planned  and  prepared  everything  in  view 
of  a  supreme  assault  on  the  new  order  of  things,  by  renew- 
ing, as  it  were,  the  old  Simon  affair.  All  those  suppositions 
were  allowable,  given  the  facts;  and  in  the  end  nobody 
doubted  that  there  had  really  been  some  mysterious  agree- 
ment and  ambush. 

Thus,  how  great  was  Marc's  relief  when  the  authorities, 
being  convinced  of  Faustin's  guilt  and  flight,  set  the  affair 
aside.  At  the  first  moment  that  renewal  of  the  old  abom- 
inations, that  last  supreme  attempt  to  besmirch  the  secular 
schools,  had  greatly  disquieted  Marc.  But  he  was  aston- 
ished at  the  rapidity  with  which  the  truth  had  been  made 
manifest  by  public  good  sense.  The  appearances  against 
Francois  had  been  far  greater  than  those  against  Simon  in 
the  old  days.  His  own  daughter  had  accused  him;  and, 
even  if  she  had  retracted  her  words,  it  would  simply  have 
been  said  that  she  had  yielded  to  family  pressure.  In 
former  times  no  witnesses,  neither  a  Bongard,  nor  a  Doloir, 
nor  a  Savin,  would  have  dared  to  come  forward  and  say 
what  they  had  heard  or  seen,  for  fear  of  compromising 
themselves.  In  former  times  Marsouillier  would  not  have 
relieved  his  conscience;  firstly,  because  he  would  have  felt 
no  need  of  doing  so,  and  secondly  because  a  powerful  fac- 
tion would  have  immediately  risen  to  support  and  glorify 
his  original  falsehood.  The  Congregations  had  then  been 
ready  at  hand,  poisoning  everything,  making  a  dogma,  a 
cult,  of  error.  Rome  in  her  battle  against  free  thought 
had  made  a  savage  use  of  political  parties,  maddening  them, 
hurling  them  one  upon  the  other,  in  the  hope  of  some  civil 
war  which,  by  cutting  the  nation  in  halves,  might  render 
her  mistress  of  the  majority,  the  poor  and  ignorant.  And 
now  that  Rome  was  vanquished,  that  the  Congregations 
were  disappearing,  that  not  a  Jesuit  would  soon  be  left  to 
obscure  men's  thoughts  and  pervert  their  actions,  human 
reason  was  working  freely.  The  explanation  of  all  the  good 
sense  and  logic  which  Marc  had  lately  observed  was  not  to 
be  sought  elsewhere.  The  simple  fact  was  that  the  people, 
being  now  educated  and  freed  from  the  errors  of  centuries, 
were  becoming  capable  of  truth  and  justice. 

But  amid  the  delight  of  victory  some  anxiety  lingered  in 


590  TRUTH 

Marc's  heart,  anxiety  at  the  rupture  which  had  occurred 
between  Francois  and  Th^rese,  that  question  of  the  happi- 
ness of  man  and  woman,  which  happiness  can  only  spring 
from  their  perfect  agreement.  Marc  did  not  entertain  any 
wild  hope  of  being  able  to  kill  the  passions  and  prevent  our 
poor  humanity  from  bleeding  beneath  the  spur  of  desire. 
There  would  always  be  broken  hearts,  tortured  and  jealous 
flesh.  Only,  might  one  not  hope  that  woman,  being  freed 
and  raised  to  equality  with  man,  would  render  the  sexual 
struggle  less  bitter,  impart  to  it  some  calm  dignity  ?  Already 
during  the  recent  scandal  women  had  shown  themselves  the 
friends  of  truth,  employing  all  their  energy  to  discover  it. 
They  were  emancipated  from  the  Church;  they  were  no 
longer  possessed  by  base  superstition  and  the  fear  of  hell ; 
they  no  longer  feigned  a  false  humility  before  the  priests; 
they  were  no  longer  the  servants  who  prostrated  themselves 
before  men,  the  sex  which  seems  to  acknowledge  its  abjec- 
tion and  which  revenges  itself  for  its  enforced  humility  by 
rotting  and  disorganising  everything.  They  had  ceased  to 
act  as  snares  of  voluptuousness  in  accordance  with  the  dis- 
creet advice  of  their  confessors,  seeking  to  entrap  men  in 
order  to  promote  the  triumph  of  religion.  They  had  be- 
come normal  wives  and  mothers  since  they  had  been  wrested 
from  that  morbid  falsehood  of  the  divine  spouse,  which  had 
unhinged  so  many  poor  minds.  And  now  was  it  not  their 
duty  to  complete  the  great  work  by  exercising  the  rights 
they  had  regained  with  great  wisdom  and  kindness  ? 

At  last  it  occurred  to  Marc  to  assemble  the  whole  family 
at  the  school,  in  that  large  classroom  where  he  himself  had 
taught,  and  where  Joseph  and  Francois  had  taught  after 
him.  And  there  was  a  certain  solemnity  about  that  meet- 
ing, held  one  afternoon  at  the  close  of  September,  amid  the 
sunshine  which  cast  gentle  beams  on  the  master's  desk,  the 
boys'  forms,  the  blackboards,  and  the  pictures  hanging  from 
the  walls.  S^bastien  and  Sarah  came  from  Beaumont; 
Clement  and  Charlotte  arrived  with  their  daughter  Lucienne 
from  Jonville.  And  Joseph,  warned  some  days  previously, 
had  returned  from  a  holiday  tour  feeling  very  much  affected 
by  all  that  had  occurred  in  his  absence.  Finally,  Marc 
himself  and  Genevieve,  accompanied  by  Louise  and  Joseph, 
repaired  to  the  rendezvous,  taking  Francois  with  them — • 
Th£rese  and  Rose  awaiting  their  arrival  in  the  classroom. 
Altogether  twelve  members  of  the  family  attended  the 
gathering,  and  at  first  deep  silence  prevailed. 


TRUTH  591 

'  My  dear  The'rese, '  said  Marc  at  last,  '  we  have  no  wish 
to  do  violence. to  your  feelings,  we  have  only  come  here  for 
a  family  chat.  .  .  .  You  have  no  doubt  suffered  in  your 
heart,  but  you  have  never  known  such  a  great  rending  as 
when  husband  and  wife  have  seemed  to  come  from  two  dif- 
ferent worlds,  and  have  suddenly  found  themselves  parted 
by  such  an  abyss  as  to  suggest  no  likelihood  of  ever  being 
united  again.  In  former  times  woman,  in  the  hands  of  the 
Church,  had  become  an  instrument  of  torture  for  man, 
who  was  already  freed.  Ah!  how  many  tears  were  shed  in 
those  days,  how  many  homes  were  broken  up !  ' 

Silence  fell  again;  then  Genevieve,  who  was  deeply 
moved,  in  her  turn  said:  'Yes,  my  dear  Marc,  I  often 
regarded  you  wrongly,  I  often  tortured  you  in  the  old  days, 
and  you  do  right  to  recall  those  evil  years ;  your  words  can- 
not wound  me  now,  since  I  have  had  strength  enough  to 
overcome  the  poison.  But  how  many  women  remained 
agonising  in  the  old  dungeon,  how  many  homes  perished  in 
grief?  I  myself  have  never  been  entirely  cured;  I  have 
always  trembled  with  the  dread  of  being  mastered  once 
more  by  long  heredity  and  the  perverting  influence  of  early 
education.  And  if  I  have  managed  to  remain  erect,  it  is 
thanks  to  you,  your  sturdy  good  sense  and  active  affection, 
for  all  which  I  thank  you,  my  good  Marc.' 

Happy  tears  had  come  into  her  eyes,  and  she  continued 
with  increasing  emotion:  'Ah!  my  poor  grandmother,  my 
poor  mother!  Yes,  they  were  to  be  pitied!  They  were  so 
wretched,  assailed  by  destructive  ferments,  cast  out  of  their 
sex,  as  it  were,  by  their  voluntary  martyrdom.  My  poor 
grandmother  was  a  terrible  woman;  but  then  she  had  never 
known  a  joy  in  life,  she  lived  in  perpetual  nothingness — 
and  thus  why  should  she  not  have  dreamt  of  reducing 
others  to  the  same  painful  renunciation  of  everything  which 
she  had  imposed  upon  herself  ?  And  my  poor  mother,  too, 
what  a  long  agony  did  she  undergo  from  having  tasted  the 
delight  of  being  loved,  and  afterwards  from  having  lapsed 
for  ever  into  that  religion  of  falsehood  and  death  which 
denies  all  the  powers  and  joys  of  life!  ' 

While  Genevieve  spoke  two  shadowy  forms  seemed  to 
flit  by  —  the  vanished  forms  of  Madame  Duparque  and 
Madame  Berthereau — those  pitiable,  disquieting  devotees 
of  another  age,  one  of  whom  had  belonged  entirely  to  the 
ferocious,  exterminating  Church,  while  the  other,  of  a  gentler 
nature,  had  died  in  despair  at  the  thought  that  she  had  never 


592  TRUTH 

attempted  to  sever  her  chain.  Genevieve's  eyes  seemed  to 
wander  away  after  them  both.  She  herself  had  known  the 
great  battle,  for  it  had  been  waged  around  her  and  within 
her;  and  it  was  happiness  for  her  to  think  that  she  had  one 
day  felt  free  again,  and  had  returned  to  life  and  to  health. 
But  her  eyes  at  last  fell  upon  her  daughter  Louise,  who 
smiled  at  her  very  lovingly,  and  then  leant  forward  to  kiss 
her. 

4  Mother, '  said  Louise,  '  you  were  the  bravest  and  the 
most  deserving,  for  it  was  you  who  fought  and  suffered.  It 
is  to  you  we  owe  the  victory,  paid  for  with  so  many  tears. 
I  remember.  Coming  as  I  did  after  you,  it  was  no  great 
merit  for  me  to  free  myself  from  the  past;  and  if  never  a 
quiver  of  error  disturbed  me,  it  was  because  I  profited  by 
the  terrible  lesson  which  at  one  time  made  all  our  hearts 
bleed  in  our  poor  mourning  home.' 

4  Be  quiet,  you  flatterer, '  replied  Genevieve,  laughing 
and  returning  her  kiss.  '  You  were  the  child  who  saved  us, 
whose  strong  and  skilful  little  mind  intervened  so  lovingly 
and  triumphed  over  every  obstacle.  We  owe  our  peace  to 
you ;  you  were  the  first  free  little  woman  with  enough  intel- 
ligence, will,  and  resolution  to  set  happiness  on  earth. 

Then  Marc,  turning  towards  Therese,  explained :  4  You 
were  not  born,  my  dear,  at  the  time  of  all  those  things,  and 
you  are  ignorant  of  them.  Having  come  after  Louise, 
having  never  had  anything  to  do  with  baptism  or  confession 
or  communion,  you  find  it  easy  and  simple  to  live  freely 
beyond  the  pale  of  religious  imposture  and  social  prejudice, 
with  no  other  bonds  about  you  than  those  of  your  own 
reason  and  conscience.  But,  for  things  to  be  as  they  are, 
mothers  and  grandmothers  passed  through  frightful  crises, 
the  worst  follies,  the  worst  torments.  .  .  .  As  is  the 
case  with  all  the  social  questions,  the  one  solution  lay  in 
education.  It  was  necessary  to  impart  knowledge  to  woman 
before  setting  her  in  her  legitimate  place  as  the  equal  and 
companion  of  man.  That  was  the  first  thing  necessary,  the 
essential  condition  of  human  happiness,  for  woman  could 
only  free  man  after  being  freed  herself.  As  long  as  she 
remained  the  priest's  servant  and  accomplice,  an  instrument 
of  reaction,  espionage,  and  warfare  in  the  home,  man  him- 
self remained  in  chains,  incapable  of  all  virile  and  decisive 
action.  The  strength  of  the  future  will  lie  in  the  absolute 
agreement  of  man  and  wife.  .  .  .  And  so,  my  dear, 
you  see  how  sad  it  makes  us  that  misfortune  should  again 


TRUTH  593 

have  come  into  your  home.  There  is  no  abyss  created  by 
different  beliefs  between  you  and  Francois.  You  are  of 
the  same  spheres,  the  same  education.  He  is  not  your 
master  by  law  and  custom,  as  he  would  have  been  in  the 
old  days;  you  are  not  his  servant,  seeking  an  opportunity 
to  revenge  yourself  on  him  for  his  mastery.  You  have  the 
same  rights  as  he  has.  You  can  dispose  of  your  life  as  you 
choose.  Your  joint  peace  and  agreement  are  based  solely 
on  reason,  logic,  and  the  dictates  of  life  itself,  which,  to  be 
lived  in  health  and  all  fulness,  requires  the  mating  of  man 
and  woman.  But,  alas!  we  see  your  peace  destroyed  by 
the  eternal  fragility  of  human  nature,  unless  indeed  kind- 
ness of  heart  should  help  you  to  win  it  back. ' 

Th^rese  had  listened,  calm,  dignified,  and  with  an  ex- 
pression of  great  deference :  '  I  know  all  those  things, 
grandfather;  you  must  not  think  I  have  forgotten  them,' 
said  she.  '  But  why  has  Francois  been  living  with  you  for 
some  days  past  ?  He  might  have  remained  here.  There 
are  two  lodgings,  the  schoolmaster's  and  the  school- 
mistress's, and  I  do  not  prevent  him  from  taking  possession 
of  the  former  while  I  occupy  the  other.  In  that  fashion  he 
can  resume  his  duties  when  the  boys  come  back  in  a  few 
days'  time.  We  are  free,  as  you  say,  and  I  desire  to  remain 
free. ' 

Her  father  and  her  mother,  Se"bastien  and  Sarah,  then 
tried  to  intervene  affectionately;  and  Genevieve,  Louise, 
and  Charlotte,  indeed  all  the  women  present,  smiled  at  her, 
entreated  her  with  their  glances;  but  she  would  listen  to 
nothing,  she  rejected  their  suggestions  resolutely,  though 
without  any  anger. 

'  Frangois  has  wounded  me  cruelly,'  she  said.  '  I  thought 
I  had  quite  ceased  to  love  him,  and  I  should  be  telling  you 
a  falsehood  if  I  said  that  I  am  now  certain  I  love  him 
still.  .  .  .  You  cannot  wish  me  to  tell  an  untruth, 
you  cannot  wish  me  to  resume  life  in  common  with  him, 
when  it  would  be  cowardice  and  shame.' 

At  this  a  cry  escaped  Francois,  who  hitherto  had  re- 
mained silent,  and  visibly  anxious.  '  But  I,  Th^rese,  I 
still  love  you!  '  he  exclaimed.  '  I  love  you  as  I  never  loved 
you  before,  and  if  you  have  suffered,  I  think  that  I  now 
suffer  even  more  than  you  have  done!' 

She  turned  towards  him,  and  said  very  gently:  'You 
speak  the  truth,  I  am  willing  to  believe  it.  ...  It  is 
quite  possible  that  you  still  love,  in  spite  of  your  folly,  for 
38 


594  TRUTH 

amid  all  our  craving  for  reason,  our  poor  human  hearts  will 
ever  remain  a  source  of  dementia.  And  as  you  suffer  so 
much,  there  are  two  of  us  who  suffer  .  .  .  dreadfully. 
But  I  cannot  be  your  wife  again  if  I  no  longer  love  you,  if 
I  no  longer  wish  you  for  my  husband.  It  would  be  un- 
worthy of  us  both,  our  ill,  in  lieu  of  healing,  would  be 
poisoned  by  it.  The  best  course  for  us  to  follow  is  to  live 
as  good  neighbours,  good  friends,  and  attending  to  our 
work,  each  free  once  more.' 

'  But  I,  mamma!  '  cried  Rose,  whose  eyes  were  full  of 
tears. 

'  You,  my  darling  ?  You  will  love  us  both  to-morrow  as 
you  loved  us  yesterday.  .  .  .  And  don't  be  anxious, 
these  are  questions  which  one  only  understands  when  one 
is  older  than  you  are.' 

With  a  caressing  gesture  Marc  summoned  the  girl  to  him, 
and,  having  seated  her  on  his  knees,  he  was  about  to  plead 
the  cause  of  Franpois  once  more  when  The>ese  hastily  fore- 
stalled him. 

1  No,  no,  grandfather,  do  not  insist,  I  beg  you.  It  is 
your  tender  heart,  not  your  reason,  that  now  wishes  to 
speak.  If  you  prevailed  over  me  you  might  have  cause  to 
repent  it.  Let  me  be  wise  and  strong.  ...  I  know 
very  well  that  you  wish  to  spare  us  suffering.  Ah!  let  us 
confess  that  suffering  will  be  eternal.  It  is  in  us,  no  doubt, 
for  one  of  the  unknown  purposes  of  life.  Our  poor  hearts 
will  always  bleed,  we  shall  always  rend  them  in  hours  of 
exasperated  passion,  in  spite  of  all  the  health  and  all  the 
good  sense  that  we  may  succeed  in  acquiring.  And,  per- 
haps, that  is  the  necessary  good  for  happiness! ' 

A  slight  chilling  quiver  seemed  to  dim  the  bright  sun- 
light; through  all  there  passed  a  consciousness  of  the 
sorrowful  grandeur  of  that  recognition  of  suffering. 

'  But  what  does  it  matter  ? '  Therese  continued.  '  Have 
no  fears,  grandfather,  we  will  be  worthy  and  brave.  It  is 
nothing  to  suffer,  it  is  only  necessary  that  suffering  should 
not  make  us  blind  and  wicked.  Nobody  will  know  that  we 
suffer,  and  we  will  even  try  to  be  the  better  for  it,  more 
gentle  to  others,  more  desirous  of  assuaging  the  causes  of 
grief  which  exist  in  the  world.  .  .  .  And,  besides, 
grandfather,  do  not  regret  anything;  say  to  yourself  that 
you  have  done  all  you  possibly  could  do,  that  you  have 
carried  out  an  admirable  task  which  will  give  us  all  the 
happiness  that  reason  can  yield.  As  for  the  rest,  as  for 


TRUTH  595 

sentimental  life,  each  with  his  or  her  love  will  settle  that 
according  to  personal  circumstances,  even  if  it  be  in  tears. 
Leave  us,  Francois  and  me,  leave  us  to  live  and  suffer  even, 
as  we  choose,  for  it  only  concerns  ourselves.  It  is  suffi- 
cient that  you  should  have  freed  our  minds,  and  made  us 
conscious  of  a  world  of  truth  and  justice.  .  .  .  And  as 
you  have  brought  us  together  here,  grandfather,  it  shall  not 
be  for  the  purpose  of  preventing  a  rupture,  of  which  only 
Francois  and  myself  can  be  the  judges,  but  it  shall  be  to 
give  us  an  opportunity  to  acclaim  you,  to  express  to  you 
our  adoration,  and  our  gratitude  for  your  work! ' 

At  this  they  all  clapped  hands,  transported  with  delight, 
and  the  splendour  of  the  sun  seemed  to  have  returned  and 
to  stream  in  a  sheet  of  gold  through  the  lofty  windows. 
Yes,  yes,  this  was  the  grandfather's  triumph  in  that  very 
classroom  where  he  had  fought  so  bravely,  where  he  had 
given  the  best  of  his  heart  and  his  mind  to  those  who  would 
become  the  people  of  the  morrow.  Children,  grand- 
children, great-grandchildren,  all  were  his  pupils,  and  all 
surrounded  him  as  if  he  were  a  very  venerable  and  power- 
ful patriarch,  from  whom  the  happy  future  had  sprung. 
He  had  kept  Rose,  who  represented  the  last  generation  in 
its  flower,  on  his  lap ;  and  she  had  twined  her  arms  about 
his  neck,  and  was  covering  his  face  with  kisses.  His 
daughter  Louise,  his  son  Clement,  had  set  themselves  be- 
side him  with  Joseph  and  Charlotte.  And  Se"bastien  and 
Sarah  smiled  at  him  and  stretched  out  their  clasped  hands, 
while  The"rese  and  Franfois,  drawn  nearer  together,  it 
seemed,  by  their  affection  for  the  august  old  man,  seated 
themselves  at  his  feet.  At  last  Marc,  deeply  moved,  almost 
stifled  by  the  caresses  heaped  on  him,  said  jestingly,  with  a 
pleasant  laugh,  '  My  children,  my  children,  you  must  not 
make  a  god  of  me!  You  know  very  well  that  the  churches 
are  being  shut  up.  ...  I  am  only  a  hard  worker  who 
has  finished  his  day.  Besides,  I  don't  want  to  triumph 
without  my  dear  Genevieve  beside  me.' 

He  drew  her  near,  taking  her  by  the  arm,  and  they  all 
kissed  her  as  they  had  kissed  him,  in  such  wise  that  the 
husband  and  wife,  once  parted,  then  reconciled  and  from 
that  time  commanding  all  possible  happiness,  were  con- 
jointly glorified  in  that  elementary  classroom,  among  those 
humble  forms  on  which,  again  and  again,  the  children's 
children,  all  the  generations  going  towards  the  happy  city, 
would  take  their  seats, 


596  TRUTH 

And  that  was  Marc's  reward  for  all  his  years  of  courage 
and  effort.  He  saw  his  work  before  him.  Rome  had  lost 
the  battle,  France  was  saved  from  death,  from  the  dust  and 
ruin  in  which  Catholic  nations  disappear,  one  after  the 
other.  She  had  been  rid  of  the  clerical  faction  which  had 
chosen  her  territory  as  its  battlefield,  ravaging  her  fields, 
poisoning  her  people,  striving  to  create  darkness  in  order  to 
dominate  the  world  once  more.  She  was  no  longer  threat- 
ened with  burial  beneath  the  ashes  of  a  dead  religion ;  she 
had  again  become  her  own  mistress;  she  could  go  forward 
to  her  destiny  as  a  liberating  and  justice-dealing  power. 
And  if  she  had  conquered  it  was  solely  by  the  means  of 
that  primary  education  which  had  extracted  the  humble, 
the  lowly  ones  of  her  country  districts,  from  the  ignorance 
of  slaves,  from  the  deadly  imbecility  in  which  Roman 
Catholicism  had  maintained  them  for  centuries.  Some  had 
dared  to  say,  '  Happy  the  poor  in  spirit ! '  and  from  that 
mortal  error  had  sprung  the  misery  of  two  thousand  years. 
The  legend  of  the  benefits  of  ignorance  now  appeared 
like  a  prolonged  social  crime.  Poverty,  dirt,  superstition, 
falsehood,  tyranny,  woman  exploited  and  held  in  contempt, 
man  stupefied  and  mastered,  every  physical  and  every 
moral  ill,  were  the  fruits  of  that  ignorance  which  had  been 
fostered  intentionally,  which  had  served  as  a  system  of 
state  politics  and  religious  police.  Knowledge  alone  would 
slay  mendacious  dogmas,  disperse  those  who  traded  and 
lived  on  them,  and  become  the  source  of  wealth,  whether 
in  respect  to  the  harvests  of  the  soil  or  the  general  flores- 
cence of  the  human  mind.  No !  happiness  had  never  had 
its  abode  in  ignorance;  it  lay  in  knowledge,  which  will 
change  the  frightful  field  of  material  and  moral  wretched- 
ness into  a  vast  and  fruitful  expanse,  whose  wealth  from 
year  to  year  culture  will  increase  tenfold. 

Thus  Marc,  laden  with  years  and  glory,  had  enjoyed  the 
great  reward  of  living  long  enough  to  see  his  work's  result. 
Justice  resides  in  truth  alone,  and  there  is  no  happiness 
apart  from  justice.  And  after  the  creation  of  families, 
after  the  foundation  of  the  cities  of  just  work,  the  nation 
itself  was  constituted  on  the  day  when,  by  decreeing  integral 
education  for  all  its  citizens,  it  showed  itself  capable  of 
practising  truth  and  equity. 

THE  END 


JOHN  LANE'S  NEW  NOVELS  :  1903 


DORA  GREENWELL  McCHESNEY 

CORNET  STRONG  OF  IRETON'S  HORSE:  An  Epi- 
sode of  the  Ironsides.  By  DORA  GREENWELL  McCnESNEY. 
With  eight  full  page  line  drawings  by  Maurice  GreifFenhagen. 
Decorative  cover.  12 mo.  $1.50. 

Miss  McChesney's  mastery  of  the  art  of  the  historical  novel  has  been  attested 
by  the  reception  of  her  previous  books:  "Beatrix  Infelix,"  "Rupert,  by  the 
Grace  of  God,"  "Miriam  Cromwell,  Royalist,"  "Kathleen  Clare,"  etc. 


CHARLES   MARRIOTT 

THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  SANDS :  A  Novel.  By  CHARLES 
MARRIOTT,  author  of  "The  Column"  (18,000),  and  "Love 
with  Honour."  12010.  $1.50. 

Mr.  Marriott's  first  novel  "The  Column"  was  picked  as  one  of  the  ten 
best  novels  of  the  year  (1901),  and  the  same  honour  has  been  accorded  his 
second  novel  "Love  with  Honour"  (1901). 


HON.  MRS.  HENNIKER 

CONTRASTS.    By  the  HON.  MRS.  HENNIKER,  author  of  "  In 
Scarlet  and  Grey. ' '     I  zmo.     $1.50. 


RICHARD  GARNETT 

THE  TWILIGHT  OF  THE  GODS.  By  RICHARD  GAR- 
MITT,  LL.D.  A  new  and  revised  edition,  containing  many 
additional  stories,  izmo.  £1.50. 


THE     LADY    PARAMOUNT 

By  HENRY   HARLAND 
fifty-fifth    Thousand 

The  Ne*w  Tork  Commercial  Advertiser :  "  Delicate  and  dainty 
were  the  words  which  came  spontaneously  to  mind  when  reading 
'The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box,'  and  equally  dainty  and  equally  deli- 
cate is  this  latest  product  of  Mr.  Harland's  nimble  imagination. 
Yet  it  is  a  fabric  which  promises  longer  endurance  than  many  of  the 
heavier  canvases  upon  which  his  contemporaries  have  painted  pon- 
derous pictures  of  historic  strife  and  bloodshed.  This  is  a  book 
full  of  sunshine  and  sparkle,  full  of  the  breath  of  outdoor  life  and 
the  hidden  beauties  of  nature,  and  pervaded  with  a  lyric  note  as 
blithe,  as  spontaneous,  and  as  irresponsible  as  the  song  of  the  sky- 
lark vanishing  in  the  azure  sky  above  the  old  town  of  Craford. 
Finally  it  is  a  book  without  a  shadow,  a  sorrow,  a  single  note  of 
gloom  or  cynicism  —  sovereign  remedy  for  a  despondent  mood." 

The  Chicago  Record-Herald :  "  Henry  Harland's  novels  possess  an 
atmosphere  of  joyousness  that  belongs  to  the  springtime  of  life  and 
love.  .  .  .  There  is  a  bouyancy,  a  joyousness  about  the  manner  in 
which  it  is  told  that  stimulates  like  a  spring  day.  You  think  of 
green  woods  and  dancing  nymphs  and  of  all  things  that  are  pretty 
and  happy  and  free  from  care.  We  predict  that  '  The  Lady 
Paramount'  will  be  a  prime  favorite  for  summer  reading.  It  is  free 
from  fatiguing  problems,  cheerful,  witty,  and  thoroughly  engaging." 

The  Baltimore  Sun:  "  'The  Lady  Paramount'  has  all  the  bright- 
ness and  delicacy  that  made  popular  'The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box,' 
and  than  this  we  could  hardly  give  it  higher  praise.  The  predom- 
inating feature  of  the  book  is  brilliancy  —  not  that  mere  cleverness 
which  is  at  first  attractive  and  then  wearisome,  but  a  constant  play 
of  light  and  shade,  a  delicate  dressing  of  thoughts  in  most  appro- 
priate and  yet  lightsome  words,  a  mingling  of  playful  wit  with  truth 
of  delineation  that  is  the  perfection  of  art  in  this  wise.  .  .  .  The 
most  brilliant  of  contemporary  novelists.  ...  It  is  the  brightest 
piece  of  fiction  that  we  have  read  in  many  moons,  and  one  of  the 
most  artistic  in  method  and  delicate  in  fancy  and  treatment." 

The  tienu  York  Times :  «'  There  are  some  books  which  woo  one 
to  the  springtime.  Such  a  book  is  Henry  Harland's  latest  story, 
'The  Lady. Paramount.*  Enjoyment  of  it  would  not  be  complete 
unless  it  were  read  in  the  park,  under  the  trees,  or  while  idly  swing- 
ing in  a  hammock  in  some  sequestered  nook  of  the  piazza.  It  is 
fresh,  sweet,  and  pure — which,  on  the  whole,  is  now  rare  praise," 


THE  CARDINAL'S  SNUFF-BOX 

By  HENRY  HARLAND 

Eighty- Fifth  Thousand 

The  North  American:  "This  charming  love  story  is  as  delicate  as 
the  sunset  on  the  snow-covered  summits  of  his  Monte  Sfiorito,  as 
fragrant  with  th>-  breath  of  youth,  summer,  and  love  as  the  forest 
breeze  which  swept  into  the  Villa  Floriano." 

The  New  York  Tribune:  "  We  find  <The  Cardinal's  Snuff-Box* 
so  captivating,  a  book  so  good  that  we  want  it  to  be  perfect.  It  is 
a  book  to  enjoy  and  to  praise." 

The  Chicago  Times-Herald:  "The  chief  virtue  of  the  story  is  the 
freshness  and  idyllic  quality  of  the  manner  of  its  telling." 
The  Albany  Argus :  "  One  of  the  prettiest  love  stories  one  can  find 
in  searching  the  book-shelves  over.  .  .  .  There  are  few  books  that 
give  so  broad  and  beautiful  a  picture  of  the  Catholic  as  this  garden 
idyll." 

The  Boston  Herald:  "So  happily  flavored  with  witty  and  brilliant 
conversations,  and  so  full  of  charm  in  its  love  avowals  that  it  is 
utterly  irresistible.   .  .  .   Altogether  it  is  one  of  the  most  refreshing 
love  stories  of  modern  fiction." 
The  World  (London)  :  "  A  work  of  art." 
The  Spectator  (London)  :   "A  charming  romance." 
The  Star  (London)  :   "  My  admiration  leaves  me  breathless." 
The  Speaker  (London)  :    "  Mr.   Harland  has  achieved  a  triumph. 
.   .   .   The  most  delightful  book  the  spring  has  yet  brought." 
The  Times :    "  A  book  among  a  thousand." 
The  Outlook:    "One    of  the    prettiest    love    itories   we  hive 
chanced  upon." 

The  Globe:  "  One  of  the  lightest  and  brightest  of  stories  pub- 
lished for  many  a  long  day." 

The  St.  James  Budget:  "One  of  the  brightest,  the  wittiett, 
and  the  cleverest  books  we  have  read  for  some  rime." 


COMEDIES  AND  ERRORS 

By  HENRY  HARLAND 

The  Nation :  "What  Mr.  Harland  has  done  definitely  for  the  art  of 
the  short  story  is  to  enlarge  its  scope,  to  give  it  fulness  and  richness, 
to  link  the  incident  with  the  rest  of  life,  and  to  convert  what  has 
been  feared  as  embarrassing  decoration  into  essential  substance.  ... 
Mr.  Harland's  temperament  is  gay  enough  to  wrestle  with  the  most 
painful  experience,  and  to  declare  that,  after  all,  life  is  good,  pain 
transient,  and  pleasure  of  one  sort  or  another  always  waiting  for 
recognition." 

The  Dial :  "  These  <  Comedies  and  Errors''  reveal  the  instinct  of  the 
true  artist,  the  sense  of  form,  the  compression  and  restraint,  the 
lightness  of  touch  and  the  deft  handling  of  incident  that  characterize 
the  short  stories  of  the  most  famous  practitioners.  Mr.  Harland  hat 
not  gone  to  the  school  of  the  best  Frenchmen  in  vain  and  has  at  last 
thonun  himself  capable  of 'workmanship  so  delicate  that  *we  have  not 
the  heart  to  say  aught  but  praise  concerning  it." 

GREY        ROSES 

By  HENRY  HARLAND 

Pall  Mall  Gazette  :  "  Exceedingly  pleasant  to  read.  You  close  the 
book  with  a  feeling  that  you  have  met  a  host  of  charming  people. 
*  Castles  near  Spain  *  comes  near  to  being  a  perfect  thing  of  its 
kind."  j 

Daily  Chronicle:  "They  are  charming  stories,  simple,  full  of  fresh- 
ness, with  a  good  deal  of  delicate  wit,  both  in  the  imagining  and  in 
the  telling.  The  last  story  of  the  book,  in  spite  of  improbabilities 
quite  tremendous,  is  a  delightful  story.  He  has  realised  better  than 
any  one  else  the  specialised  character  of  the  short  story  and  how  it 
should  be  written." 

Spectator :  "  Really  delightful.  «  Castles  near  Spain*  is  as  near  per- 
fection as  it  could  well  be." 

Daily  Telegraph  :  "'Castles  near  Spain'  as  a  fantastic  love  episode 
is  simply  inimitable,  and  'Mercedes'  is  instinct  with  a  pretty  humour 
and  childlike  tenderness  that  render  it  peculiarly,  nay,  uniquely 
fascinating.  '  Grey  Roses  *  are  entitled  to  rank  among  the  choicest 
flowers  of  the  realms  of  romance." 

Whitehall  Review  :  "  Nerer  before  has  the  strange,  we  might  almost 
say  the  weird,  fascination  of  the  Bohemiuusm  of  the  Latin  Quarter 
been  so  well  depicted." 


THE  ARISTOCRATS.  Being  the  Impressions  of  the  Lady 
Helen  Pole  during  her  Sojourn  in  the  Great  North  Woods,  as 
spontaneously  recorded  in  her  Letters  to  her  Friend  in  North 
Britain,  the  Countess  of  Edge  and  Ross.  I2mo.  $1.50.  Twenty- 
Third  Thousand. 

The  Times :  "  Clever  and  entertaining.  .  .  .  This  gay  volume  is  written  by  some  one 
with  a  pretty  wit,  an  eye  for  scenery,  and  a  mind  quick  to  grasp  natural  as  will  a* 
individual  characteristics.  Her  investigations  into  the  American  character  are  acute 
as  well  as  amusing." 

The  St.  James's  Gazette l  "We  feel  constrained  to  warn  our  readers  that  by 
rigorously  refusing  to  order  'The  Aristocrats'  from  the  library  they  will  prevent 
entrance  into  their  drawing-rooms  of  a  book  which  is  frank  almost  to  offence,  indecorous 
almost  to  naughtiness,  and  so/unny  that  on  no  account  would  we  have  missed  it* 
fersual." 

The  Bookman  (New  York) :  "  One  of  the  cleverest  books  of  the  year." 
The  Onlooker- :    "I  have  no  hesitation  in  recommending  it  strongly  to  my  reader** 
notice.  ...  It  contains  the  most  delicious  satire  and  the  brighest  writing  that  ha* 
been  published  for  a  long  time." 

SENATOR  NORTH.   I2mo.    $1.50.     Thirtieth  Thousand. 

New  York  Herald:  "  In  the  description  of  Washington  life  Mrs.  Atherton  shows 

not  only  a  very  considerable   knowledge  of  externals,  but  also  an  insight  into  the 

underlying  political  issues  that  is  remarkable." 

Chicago  Times-Herald:  "  Mrs.  Atherton  is  capable  of  dramatic  situations  of  great 

intensity." 

Outlook :  "The  novel  has  genuine  historical  value." 

Tmvn  Tofics  :  "  '  Senator  North '  is  a  book  that  every  American,  whether  interested 

in  the  society  life  of  the  capital  or  the  larger  life  of  the  men  who  make  the  laws,  should 

read.     //  is  the  strongest  political  novel  ever  written  by  an  A  mtrican.      As  ax 

historic  novel  it  is  in  a  class  by  itself.     No  earnest  student  of  our  national  life  can 

afford  to  let  '  Senator  North  '  go  unread." 

Boston  Time*  ;  "  It  is  one  of  the  best  books  I  have  read  this  year,  and  it  is  thoroughly 

American." 

THE  CALIFORNIANS.  BY  GERTRUDE  ATHERTON.  1 2mo. 
$1.50. 

Daily  Chronicle  :  "  Mrs.  Gertrude  Ath  trton  has  given  us  as  usual  a  clever,  brilliant 
and  interesting  piece  of  work,  full  of  brisk  epigrams,  vivid  turns  of  speech,  and 
effective  local  colour." 

Daily  Mail:  "'The  Califomians'  is  brilliant,  sharp,  and  vigorous,  as  was  to  b«  ex- 
pected." 

British  Weekly :  "  Mrs.  Atherton  is  in  our  judgment  the  ablest  woman  writer  of 
fiction  now  living." 

Standard:  "  That  Mrs.  Atherton  Is  one  of  the  most  accomplished  novelists  of  her 
country  there  can  be  no  manner  of  doubt." 

PATIENCE  SPARHAWK  AND  HER  TIMES.  By 
GERTRUDE  ATHERTON.  izmo.  $1.50. 

Westminster  Gazette :    "  The  book   ha*  very  high  merits.    The  characters  are  all 

firmly  conceived  and  firmly  drawn." 

Literary  Wtrld:  "  It  is  scarcely  likely  that  any  one  who  commences  it  will  be  able  to 

throw  it  aside  unfinished." 

Glob* :  "  A  clever  and  significant  book." 

MR.  W.  L.  COUHTWBY  in  the  Dmitf  TeUfr»fh:  "  The  book  is  ome  of  rare 

and  power.    A  novel  to  be  read." 


The  Novels  of  W.  J.  Locke 

THE  USURPER.  By  W.  J.  LOCKE.    i2mo,  $1.50 

The  Boston  Herald:  "Contains  the  hall-mark  of  genius  itself.  The  plot  is 
masterly  in  conception,  the  descriptions  are  all  vivid  flashes  from  a  brilliant  pen. 
It  is  impossible  to  read  and  not  marvel  at  the  skilled  workmanship  and  the  con- 
stant dramatic  intensity  of  incidents,  situations  and  climax. ' ' 
The  Chicago  Pott:  "More  than  bears  out  the  promise  of  its  predecessors. 
Upon  all  sides  it  is  the  strongest  work  yet  presented  by  Mr.  Locke.  It  is  safe 
to  predict  for  him  a  steadily  widening  popularity  with  us." 
The  Baltimore  Sun  :  "A  suspensive  plot  that  is  marvelous  for  its  ingenuity. 
The  book  will  have  a  multitude  of  readers,  and  not  one  will  be  justifiably 
disappointed.  We  recommend  '  The  Usurper '  as  one  of  the  decided  hits  of 
the  year." 

DERELICTS    ByW.  J.LOCKE.    i2mo.   $1.50 

The  Daily  Chronicle  :  "  Mr.  Locke  tells  his  story  in  a  very  true,  a  very  mov- 
ing, and  a  very  noble  book.  If  any  one  can  read  the  last  chapter  with  dry 
eyes,  we  shall  be  surprised.  '  Derelicts '  is  an  impressive,  an  important  book. 
Yvonne  is  a  creation  that  any  artist  might  be  proud  of." 
The  London  Morning  Post :  ' '  One  of  the  best  types  of  the  social  derelict  is 
depicted  with  subtlety  and  sympathetic  acumen  in  Mr.  Locke's  clever  novel. 
Altogether  one  of  the  most  effective  stories  that  have  appeared  for  some  tine 
past. ' ' 

IDOLS.      By  W.  J.  LOCKE.       i2mo.      11.50 

The  Daily  Mail :  "  One  of  the  very  few  distinguished  novels  of  this  present 
book  season." 

The  London  Daily  Telegraph  :  "A  brilliantly  written  and  eminently  readable 
book." 

A  STUDY  IN  SHADOWS.    By  W.  J.  LOCKE. 
I2mo.     $1.50 

The  Daily  Chronicle:  "Mr.  Locke  has  achieved  a  distinct  success  in  this 
novel.  He  has  struck  many  emotional  cords,  and  struck  them  all  with  a  firm, 
sure  hand.  In  the  relations  between  Katherine  Raine  he  had  a  delicate 
problem  to  handle,  and  he  has  handled  it  delicately." 

THE    WHITE    DOVE.      By  W.  J.  LOCKE. 
I2mo.     $1.50 

The  Morning  Post :  "  It  is  an  interesting  story.  The  characters  are  strongly  con- 
ceived and  vividly  presented,  and  the  dramatic  moments  are  powerfully  realised." 
Literature:  "  Mr.  Locke  writes  well.  .  .  .  He  has  the  seeing  eye  for  charac- 
ter, the  capacity  for  emotion.  We  have  nothing  but  praise  to  give  his  able 
character  drawing,  while  the  attitude  of  the  Lanyons — father  and  son — to  each 
other  is  singularly  beautiful  and  touching." 


Richard  Bagot's  Novels 

THE  JUST  AND  THE  UNJUST.   i2mo, 


The  N.  Y.  World:  "  It  is  a  daring  story.    It  shows  to  admirable 
purpose  the  power  and  conviction  in  narrative  possible  to  a 
writer  whose  literary  sight  and  literary  style  are  equally  clear." 
The  N,  Y.  Tribune  :  "  A  story  of  ingenuity  and  romantic  in- 
terest." 

A  ROMAN  MYSTERY.     i2mo,  $1.50 

The  N.  Y.  Commercial  Advertiser  :  "  A  story  which  is  likely  to 
win  a  good  many  friends  for  its  author.  Mr.  Bagot  possesses 
the  qualities  of  a  story  teller  and  of  a  student  of  character." 
The  N.  Y.  Examiner:  "An  interesting  situation.  Mr.  Bagot 
makes  good  use  of  his  materials.  He  throws  a  good  deal  of 
light  on  the  movements  of  to-day." 

CASTING  OF  NETS,     nmo,  $1.50 

Rabbi  Joseph  Krauskopf,  D.D.:  "  The  story  is  excellently  written; 
it  holds  the  reader  spellbound  from  first  to  last.  The  author 
deals  with  facts  :  the  names  are  but  guises  of  actual  personages 
well  known  hi  aristocratic  circles  in  England  and  in  Rome." 
Dean  Hole,  in  The  Academy  :  "  Of  the  novels  which  I  have  read 
in  1901,1  have  been  much  pleased  and  interested  in  'Casting 
of  Nets.'  " 

Canon  Scott  Holland,  preaching  in  St.  Parts  Cathedral,  Lon- 
don: "A  book  widely  read  of  late;  a  book  of  singular  brilliancy." 

An  Anonymous  Novel 
THE   CATHOLIC.     121110,11.50 

The  Author's  Advertisement:  "  This  is  a  '  picture  of  life,'  not  a 
novel  with  a  purpose.  The  author  has  endeavoured  to  put  into 
artistic  form  the  results  of  his  observations  of  a  section  of  con- 
temporary English  society  interested  in  the  Roman  Catholic 
Church,  with  a  view,  not  of  attacking  or  defending  that  Church, 
but  of  portraying  character  in  association  with  it.  The  story  is 
a  record  of  a  proud  Englishwoman  under  the  influence  of  a  great 
spiritual  power.  She  is  not  held  up  to  the  admiration  or  to  the 
reprobation  of  the  reader;  judgment  is  not  passed  upon  her  by 
the  author  ;  she  is  merely  presented." 


Charles  Marriott's  Novels 
THE    COLUMN 

Decorative  Cover    .    I2mo    .     $1.30 

Senator  John  M.  Thurston  :  "  I  have  read  no  story  of  modern 
times  which  so  completely  demanded  my  undivided  attention 
from  the  beginning  to  the  end  as  '  The  Column '  by  Charles 
Marriott.  It  is  a  striking  and,  as  it  seems  to  me,  a  faithful 
delineation  of  the  strongest,  yet  most  natural  characters.  The 
language  is  chaste  and  refined,  the  dramatic  interest  intense, 
the  plot  powerful,  and  the  whole  work  cleanly  and  brilliantly  in- 
tellectual. It  is  sure  to  take  high  rank  in  the  literature  of  the 
day." 

Mr.  Julian  Hawthorne :  "  Marriott,  taken  as  an  alterative  after 
other  literary  forms,  is  deeply  welcome  and  full  of  wholesome 
succulence.  He  paces  up  and  down,  as  it  were,  in  a  hall  where 
all  is  harmonious  and  proudly  beautiful,  even  fastidious  ...  It 
is  a  book  full  of  repose,  even  in  its  passion ;  and  it  is  everywhere 
rich  in  beauty.  Mr.  Marriott  comes  among  us  a  stranger  and  an 
alien ;  but  he  is  welcome,  for  he  brings  with  him  a  beauty  which 
lifts  and  purifies  the  mind." 

Mr.  Bliss  Carman :  "  In  this  book  a  new  writer  of  English 
fiction  has  arisen  and  arrived,  another  signal  success  been  added 
to  contemporary  literature.  .  .  .  Here  is  'The  Column,'  with 
genius  writ  clear  on  every  page.  ...  A  fine  book,  a  piece  of  art 
for  which  to  be  gladly  thankful." 

LOVE   WITH    HONOUR 

Decorative  Cover       .       I2mo      .       $1.50 

Tht  Times:  "  The  book  contains  some  exquisite  pictures  of  life 
touched  with  real  poetry,  and  should  not  be  missed  by  any  one 
who  keeps  an  eye  on  the  English  novel." 

The  Spectator:  "  A  well  developed  story,  full  of  really  fine  studies 
of  character." 


Nathaniel  Stephenson's  Novels 

THEY  THAT  TOOK  THE  SWORD 

Decorative  Cover    .    I2mo    .    $1.50 

The  N.  Y.  Times,  Saturday  Review:  "  It  is  one  of  the  first  books 
to  treat  the  Civil  War  •with  absolute  freedom  from  partisanship." 
The  N.  Y.  Tribune:  "  Mr.  Stephenson's  story  of  the  Civil  War  has 
a  charming  unconventional  form.  Hardly,  in  fact,  a  novel  at  all ;  it 
is  rather  a  kind  of  pictorial  narrative,  one  which  shows  us  some  of 
the  most  interesting  phases  of  life  in  Cincinnati  in  the  sixties,  and 
envelops  background  and  action  in  an  atmosphere  which  is  half 
romantic  and  half  historical.  There  is  a  plot,  and  it  is  a  good  one. 
The  story  moves  with  nervous  force ;  it  is  as  exciting  as  it  is  natural." 

The  Dial:  "  An  unusually  satisfactory  performance." 

The  Sewanee  Review :  "  He  will  lay  it  down  with  the  consciousness 
of  having  gained  something  the  average  novel  most  frequently  fails 
to  furnish.  A  cultivated  and  philosophic  style  has  added  to  it  the 
new  charm  of  fresh  and  direct  power  of  statement.  His  narrative 
flows  smoothly  through  an  ease  and  polish  of  diction  that  makes 
the  reader  wonder  as  to  this  being  a  '  first  novel.'  His  love  scenes 
are  fresh  and  simple,  ever  permeated  with  a  subtle  humor  that  sug- 
gests he  is  laughing  at  reader  and  lover  alike.  Everywhere  appar- 
ent is  the  knack  of  the  practised  writer,  of  putting  an  idea  in  a 
terse  paragraph." 

The  Baltimore  Sun  :  "  Mr.  Stephenson  has  drawn  a  picture  of  Lin- 
coln that  is  so  full  of  sympathy,  so  full  of  strength,  so  full  of  tender- 
ness, and,  apparently,  so  full  of  truth,  that  we  cannot  help  but  think 
it  the  best  portrait  of  the  martyred  President  that  has  been  given 
us  in  the  many  recent  historical  novels.  We  feel  that  our  author 
must  have  known  the  man ;  we  begin  to  feel  that  we,  too,  have 
known  him." 

The  San  Francisco  Chronicle:  "  A  story  of  the  Civil  War,  in  design 
and  treatment  materially  and  very  agreeably  differing  from  most 
of  the  current  fiction  based  upon  the  events  of  the  great  struggle." 

THE   BEAUTIFUL   MRS.   MOULTON 

Decorative  Cover    .     I2mo    .     $I.2O  net 

New  York  Times,  Saturday  Review :  "  Mr.  Stephenson's  style  is 
fresh  and  good ;  it  is  easy,  and  free  from  mannerism,  and  charac- 
terized by  the  personal  tone  of  a  narrator  who  has  grown  up  on  the 
scene  of  his  story  and  knows  his  characters  intimately." 
The  Boston  Herald:  "  Mr.  Stephenson  is  a  man  of  scholarly  taste, 
very  wide  reading  in  the  best  English  literature,  and  has  a  grace- 
ful and  polished  style." 


The   International   Studio 

Universal  Press  Opinions  of  the  Magazine 

New  York  Tribune :  "  The  Studio  is  to-day,  by  all  odds,  the  most 
artistic  periodical  printed  in  English." 

Boston  Globe :  "  It  is  like  walking  through  a  select  art  gallery  to 
look  over  the  Studio,  and  like  attending  a  course  of  first-class 
lectures  to  read  it." 

Detroit  Free  Press:  "A  publication  that  the  up-to-date  art  lover 
cannot  do  without." 

Washington  Times:  "This  is  the  most  beautiful  of  all  magazines 
in  pictorial  embellishment  and  the  extrinsics  of  superb  book- 
making. 

Troy  Times:  "  Has  become  famous  for  the  beauty  of  its  illustra- 
tions. It  is  simply  invaluable." 

London  Daily  Chronicle:  "The  most  successful  art  magazine  in 
Europe." 

The  Outlook  (London) :  "  Shows  an  alertness  to  the  needs  of  -  the 
present  day  art-lover  that  no  similar  publication  in  any  way 
approaches." 

The  Sketch  (London):  "It  would  not  be  easy  to  have  another 
art  publication  so  distinguished  for  so  many  and  so  variously  de- 
lightful qualities." 

The  Globe:  "No  other  periodical  can  be  said  to  have  a  policy 
of  the  same  kind,  or  to  show  such  complete  consistency  in  its  advo- 
cacy of  all  aestheticism  that  is  intelligent  and  progressive." 

Le  Figaro  (Paris) :    "  Le  premier  magazine  artistique  du  monde." 

La  Deplche  de  Toulouse :  "  Le  Studio  compte  £  peine  cinq  annees 
d'existence,  mais  ce  temps  hii  a  suffi  pour  operer  une  revolution 
veritable  dans  la  presse  artistique." 

L'Art  Moderne :  «  Bien  ecrite,  bien  editee,  d'un  artistique  aspect 
dans  sa  robe  vert  olive,  le  Studio  est  sans  contredit  la  plus  neuve  et 
la  plus  originate  revue  d'art  illustree  qu'on  puisse  signaler.  .  .  . 
Nulle  autre  revue  d'art  ne  lui  est  comparable,  ni  en  Angleterre  ni 
surtout  sur  le  continent." 

The  Bombay  Gazette :  "  The  Studio  easily  takes  first  place  among 
art  magazines." 


The  International  Studio 

An   Illustrated    Magazine   of   Fine  and  Applied  Art 


Published  by  JOHN  LANE 

The  Bodley  Head 
67  Fifth  Avenue,  New  York  City 

35  cents  per  Month.     Annual  Supscription,  £3.50 

Three  Months'  Trial  Subscription,  $1.00 
Two  Specimen  Copies  sent,  post  free,  for  25  cents 


IT  is  the  aim  of  "  The  International  Studio"  to  treat  of  every 
Art  and  Craft — Architecture,  Sculpture,  Painting,  Ceramics, 

Metal,  Glass,  Furniture,  Decoration,  Design,  Bookbinding, 
Illustrating,  Photography,  Lithography,  Enamel,  Jewelry,  Needle- 
work, Gardening,  etc.  The  principal  writers  on  Art  are  contri- 
butors to  its  pages.  Many  original  illustrations,  reproduced  in 
every  variety  of  black  and  white  process,  half-tone,  line,  photo- 
gravure, etc.,  are  to  be  found  in  each  number.  Color  plates 
of  real  value  are  to  be  found  in  every  issue.  No  magazine  can 
boast  a  more  artistic  and  sumptuous  get-up  than  "  The  Interns* 
tional  Studio." 

Everyone  interested  in  Art,  professionally  or  otherwise, 
should  read  it ;  for  the  magazine  keeps  its  readers  an  fait  with 
the  doings  of  the  art  world,  both  literary  and  technical. 


CTu 


•TA.M  '«   - 


UNIVERSITY  OF  CALIFORNIA  LIBRARY,  LOS  ANGELES 

COLLEGE  LIBRARY 

This  book  is  due  on  the  last  date  stamped  below. 


9  f 


Liar ar«       ^  o  2  5 


J^VO  WEEKS  FRO? 
'NON-RENEWABLE 

5,8.  Pa 


RtC  o  COL  UEL 


MAR281974I 


LOANS 


DATE  OF  RECEIPX 


Book  Slip-35m-9,'62(D2218s4)428(i 


UCLA-College  Library 

PQ  2521  V58E5  1903 


L  005  776  691   7 


College 
Library 


PQ 
2521 
V58E5 
1903 


HERN  REGONAL  LIBRARY  FACILr 


•({8r  147  705    6 


